


The Musician's Invitation

by SilverBerry500



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: AU where Sammy leaves instead of Henry, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Horror, Friendship, Gen, Horror, I'm not sure what the name of this au would be, If you're looking for romance though this story don't have it, Ink!Wally, It's bendy and the ink machine afterall, Like Ink Body horror I mean, Minor Original Character(s), Mystery, No Romance, Psychological Horror, Sammy & Wally friendship, Sammy Needs a Hug, Sammy suffers, Suspense, There's some swearing from Sammy, There's tons of messed up inky folk to go around, also creepy imagery, also new enemies, major changes, oh yeah ink wally is a thing too, the original characters are some of Sammy's family as well as some studio workers I added in
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-01-18 21:03:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 67,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12396189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverBerry500/pseuds/SilverBerry500
Summary: Henry doesn't quit the studio, convincing himself to stay even after Joey installs that strange Ink Machine contraption. Sammy, on the other hand, gets fed up with his unreasonable boss and leaves to find better work.Years later, Sammy gets a letter from his old boss, inviting him back to the studio to see how how his modifications greatly 'improved' it.The studio had certainly changed, but the modifications were FAR from improvements.





	1. Chapter 1

Sammy had put up with a lot.

He had put up with a lot the moment he started working at Joey Drew Studios. He put up with the incessant chatter of his coworkers, the times his boss would come in demanding that a song that still had a week left before the deadline to be done in two hours (Claiming that if he just had enough belief he could get those songs done in ten minutes), the times that clumsy childish I’m-Out-Of-Here janitor Wally Franks lost his keys…

But there was one thing he couldn’t put up with anymore, and that was the blasted, churning contraption known as the Ink Machine.

“JOEY!”

The voice echoed through the entire studio, bouncing off the walls and reaching every office, work desk, and even the sound-proof recording booths in the studio. The projectionist stopped his work and groaned, wishing he had saved his cigarettes for later. “Not again…”

A voice actor poked her head out of her recording booth, a worried look on her face. “Oh boy, he seems mad…”

A couple animators covered their mouths, muffling snickers while others groaned. One of the animators stopped working and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Seriously?”

“Is that directed that to Sammy or Joey, Henry?” One of the others asked.

“What do you think?” He replied.

Sammy emerged from the Music Department, fists clenched tightly and his face twisted into a furious scowl that’d make even the bravest people flee for their lives.

But his expression wasn’t the most notable part, oh no; the most notable part was that he was covered in ink.

The man looked like he had just taken a shower in the stuff. His usual light brown hair was covered in pitch-black ink, the original color only noticeable through tiny spots that the ink hadn’t managed to cover. Half of the guy’s face wasn’t even visible, the ink only stopping at his mouth where he wiped it off while sputtering and spitting, trying to get the horrible taste of poison out of his mouth.

His white shirt and arms were covered in large, dripping splotches of ink, his pants suffering the same fate. One of his shoes had been completely covered in the stuff, causing him to leave inky footprints whenever he took a step.

But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the stack of ink-stained papers he had clenched in his left hand so hard his knuckles were turning white.

“Wait, is that…?”

“Oh no…”

“Mr. Drew’s REALLY gonna get it this time…”

They heard a loud click followed by footsteps. Knowing how Joey got when he saw they weren’t working, they all scurried back to their desks, hoping they wouldn’t have to deal with his angry motivational speeches.

The others got back to their areas just as Joey Drew entered the room. Wally, who was busy cleaning up the footprints, saw what was about to go down and backed up. “Okay, I’m just gonna get outta here and…clean up the ink downstairs…yeah.” The moment he was close enough to the doorway, he spun on his heel and hurried down.

The others ignored Wally, of course; there was something far more interesting going on.

Joey, like he always did, joyfully smiled and whistled a tune as he walked up to Sammy. When he got to him, he clasped his hands together. “Ah, Sammy! Good to see you. I take it the songs are finished?”

“Oh, I’ll say they are.” Sammy said with a low voice, holding up the stack of papers for emphasis. “See this?”

Joey’s smile widened. “Ah, the songs! I knew you’d take my advice. See, no deadline is impossible with effort and belief-”

“Belief doesn’t do much for ink stains, Joey!” Sammy shouted, cutting off his speal. He slammed the stack of papers on the ground, some of the sheets falling out of the pile in the process, revealing even more of the damage. “All of the songs and parts I wrote for the episode are completely covered in ink. Every. Single. One of them.”

Joey looked down at the sheets on the ground for a moment, before kneeling down and picking up a sheet. He examined the damage for a moment, before bringing his attention back to Sammy. “Ah, that’s a shame, isn’t it?”

“It is, and it’s all because of that damn ink machine.” Sammy seethed, his shoulders tense as he tried to suppress the urge to strangle Joey for his simplistic response. “That machine has no reason to be there, and I’m sick of it causing my department to get flooded with ink! We have to get replacement band members way more often then necessary because they’re either sick of the ink or sick FROM the ink!”

“I understand, Sammy.”

“And I’m especially-wait, what?”

“I understand completely.” Joey repeated, causing Henry to look away from his work for a moment to make sure he heard him right. “The ink floods are an issue, and I certainly don’t want to keep my employees from their full potential!”

Joey was…LISTENING to him for once? That was a new one. If Sammy had to take a shot every single time Joey refused to listen to a complaint, he probably would’ve died from alcohol poisoning.

“I can’t get rid of the machine, but I have already been planning on setting up a pump switch that’ll drain the ink periodically, just with a simple pull.” Joey assured. “You won’t have to worry about your songs being ruined anymore!”

Huh, Joey was actually being sensible. This was almost-

“Of course…with the way the layout of the pipes is the pump switch will have to go in your office, but on the bright side I’ll have other workers coming in to get it drained so don’t worry.”

…too good to be true.

“My office?” Sammy stated, before his expression of disbelief changed back to one of anger once more. “How am I supposed to focus and get songs finished when there’s people coming in and out?”

“Sammy, my boy…” Joey clasped a hand on his shoulder, much to his annoyance. “With enough effort, soon you can block out all distractions, just like I did! Just believe and you can achieve!”

Sammy never wanted to punch someone in the face so badly than he did now.

“Now, why don’t you go back to work? You can get all those songs done by the end of the day!”

That sentence made Sammy pause for a moment. He gave Joey a confused look. “Joey, they’re all covered in ink and completely unreadable. I can’t give this to the band.”

Joey waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not telling you to use the ink covered ones, my boy.” He said. “I want you to just rewrite them all down on other papers! You can fix some mistakes while you’re at it, too!”

Sammy froze, going rigid as the realization of what he wanted him to do began to sink in quicker than ink sinking into the fabric of clothing.

He wanted him to do all of those songs all over again…in five hours or less…

He wasn’t the only one who was shocked, either. Some of the other animators whispered across from each other, wondering if Joey was kidding.

“Joey that’s-that’s a week’s worth of songs.” Sammy stated, too shocked that Joey was actually being serious to even consider shouting. “I can’t cram all of that work into five hours.”

“Nonsense!” Joey replied. “I had twice as much work as you did when I was a beginner, and I got it done in two with a bit of effort!”

“Joey, that’s enough.”

Sammy turned around to see the Co-Creator himself, Henry. He didn’t know much about the man, but for being a apparent friend of Joey Drew it was quite clear he had a lot more common sense than the boisterous man already.

“The guy worked hard for the entire week, he’s covered in ink, and he doesn’t even have a place to rewrite the songs since his area’s flooded. Let him rest for the day.” Henry insisted.

“Let him rest?” Joey frowned, a layer of annoyance evident in his tone. “If he rests when it gets tough how will he know how to work hard?”

“He’s been working hard since he started.” Henry argued, his voice, although still quiet, getting louder. “You’re being unreasonable. Let him rest, get cleaned up, have his office cleaned, and give him more time.”

“THAT’S your idea of reasonable?” Joey asked in disbelief. “That’s preposterous. Lawrence can get all of this done with or without an office. He’s written them before, he can write them again!”

“Joey, you’re practically abusing your-”

“No.”

The two turned their attention to Sammy, who had overcome his disbelief and now looked angrier then every before.

“…no?” Joey replied, looking both surprised and angry.

“I am NOT rewriting all of those songs in a day.” Sammy refused.

“Ah, very funny. You’re quite the kidder-”

“SHUT UP!”  
Both Joey and his studio went entirely silent at the outburst, the tension as thick as the very ink that caused all of these problems in the first place.

Sammy breathed heavily, having used all the air in his lungs to utter those two words. His chest and shoulders heaved as he looked down at the floor, glowering at the papers on the ground. After a few seconds, he looked up at Joey, his face showing no emotion and his eyes the color of a dead channel.

“I’m not rewriting those songs for you.” Sammy uttered. “In fact, I don’t think I’ll be writing songs for you ever again.”

Before Joey could even respond, Sammy spun around and began to walk to the exit. All of the animators, unable to utter a single word, watched Sammy walk away with jaws agape, as if they themselves were in their own silent cartoon. The only sounds that were in the room were the sounds of Sammy’s footsteps on the creaking floorboards and Joey, who for the first time in a long while was stuttering, trying to form a response.

Just as he reached the exit, Sammy stopped and turned around to face Joey once more. “In case you’re still in your own little world and don’t know what that means, it means I’m quitting.”

Finally, after several attempts at speaking, Joey finally managed to get an infuriated response out. “You…you can’t just leave!”

“Why not?” Sammy inquired, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do pray tell, will you?”  
At this point, Joey’s face was practically florid with rage. “I gave you work and wrote your checks! I even let you name a song after yourself, and you repay me by leaving me-”

“Repay you? After everything you put me through you want me to repay you?” Sammy scoffed. “Do you know how many times I had to change my schedule because of you? How many birthday parties, weddings, and funerals I've missed? Hell, I never even got a chance to say goodbye to my dad before he died in his hospital bed because you thought those stupid cartoon songs were more important!”

“Alright, so my scheduling isn’t the best-”

“Goddammit Joey, let me finish speaking for once in your life. You change your deadlines on a whim, and while people are scrambling to finish that, you pile on more work for them, you scrap ideas people have put all of their time and effort into for new ones, and you spew the same hold annoying stuff about ‘belief’ and it makes me want to smack my head against a wall.” Sammy listed, doing it in one giant breath. He took another breath, pausing for a moment before pushing open the door and leaving with a final statement. “With how you act, I doubt this company’s gonna last long. You’re the worst boss I’ve ever had, and I don’t know who I’m going to write songs for now but it certainly isn’t going to be for you.”

There was a loud clank as the door was slammed shut, the entire room still silent.

Henry turned to Joey, wondering if he would speak eventually but seeing no signs of it anytime soon. The boss, for the first time in his life, was speechless.

Animators looked at each other, at a loss for words.

The projectionist let out a silent sigh, REALLY wishing he had saved a cigarette now.

The voice actor, who had left her booth to see what the commotion was about, put her hands to her mouth, unable to say anything to break the tension.

The silence was finally shattered by Wally, who had decided to come back up, the curiosity too much for him.

“Well, he’s certainly outta here.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sammy sat on the curb just outside of the studio, tossing an old, rusty can in his left hand. He was still covered in ink, and although the sight probably seemed most abnormal to anyone passing by, he didn’t care.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat out there, how long he had kicked the ground with his feet in frustration to make the air as thick with dust as it would be in a sawmill or mine. He wasn’t sure how many times he had caught the rusted can he was tossing, or when the ink began to somehow stain the old soup can as well, to the point where it didn’t even look recognizable anymore. Those things were small; they were insignificant, tiny little things that were meaningless compared to what he was thinking about right now.

_What the hell did I just do._

He was so caught up in his rage that he didn’t care what he said to Joey. He just spewed out all the grievances he had against him, everything Joey did for the three years he worked for him that caused him to loathe his boss.

The moment he exited the studio, however, the realization of what he had just done hit him like a cartoon Anvil.

He had just mouthed-off Joey freaking Drew.

At that point, Sammy found he was in a quandary. He had worked with the guy for so long that throwing in the towel felt less like a relief and more like the biggest mistake he had ever made.

It was kind of like reporting a friend that did something horrible; the right thing to do, but you experience feelings of regret for exposing your friend nonetheless. The only difference was that Joey was no friend. He was a greedy, self-aggrandizing man that spoke of belief and other drivel in a sad attempt to make other people think he knew what he was doing.

There, of course, was a multitude of other ways to describe him, but none of those other ways were very…formal, to say the least.

Joey Drew Studios was his first real full-time job. He got it at the age of 19, Joey recognizing his-as Joey called it-talent and potential to become even greater after witnessing him play his original piano pieces at his part-time job in a local bar. He had lost his previous songwriter due to ‘unfortunate circumstances’ and he was pretty much hired on the spot.

That’s what made Sammy feel quitting was a mistake; Joey Drew lacked any sort of rationality and could’ve very well just been a fluke, a rare lucky moment that probably wouldn’t happen again.

While he didn’t want to admit it, the thought of that terrified him.

What if people thought he wasn’t qualified enough, or that his music was as colorless as that blasted Bendy cartoon? How would he find a job? What company would be interested in his music?  

More and more thoughts swirled in his mind and cluttered it like a stack of papers thrown about an office.

He dropped the can he had been absentmindedly tossing and clutched his head, digging his hands through the thick ink and grabbing tuffs of his ruined hair.

He couldn’t think straight. Not with the thoughts of jobs or the loud, churning sound of the Ink Machine, the memory of it’s groans and hums echoing in his mind-

“Sammy.”

All at once, the thoughts of work and the sounds of cogs subsided at the calm yet exhausted voice.  

Sammy looked up from the ground, letting go of his hair as his head turned to look up at Henry.

The man wasn’t alone, either. Three other people had decided to join Henry in his little visit; Wally, Susie, and Norman all stood behind Henry, all wearing expressions that were nothing short of pity.

Sammy hated those pitying looks. He always had.

He knew from personal experience that pity was far from a motivator. All pity really did was just shove you deeper into the dirt. He had a list of things he needed, and pity wasn’t being added anytime soon (So far, the list in question was simply a drink, a job, and a drink celebrating the finding of said job).

However, despite the hatred of them, he didn’t say anything out-loud about those looks.

Henry went over to the left-side of him and sat down on the curb, his elbows resting on his knees as he tried to suppress a tired yawn from the amount of work Joey threw at him. “You alright, Sammy?” He asked, giving him an expression that was more concern then pity. “You’ve been out here for over twenty minutes.”

Sammy gave a soft, bitter chuckle at the inquiry. “Hardly,” he replied, rubbing his shoulder with one of his hands in a poor attempt at comfort, the black ink worsening the already ruined shirt.

“Really?” Wally gave him an incredulous expression. “I thought you’d be jumping up and down like it was your birthday or something!”

Sammy found himself becoming irritated at Wally (He usually was when it came to that klutz of janitor) but before he could respond, Norman Polk, the projectionist, piped up.

“Lawrence has been working with this place for awhile now, Franks. He ain’t gonna be happy about having to find another job. Job searching is tough; Trust me, I know.” Norman explained.

Once again, Norman had hit the nail on the head.

For a man that preferred the dark he was pretty damn bright.

“Is that what this is about, Sammy?” Susie asked. Her expression was one of both worry and realization, her rosy cheeks pale and her lips curved to a frown as she crossed her arms.

After a few seconds, Sammy nodded. “First real job I ever had…worried it’ll be the last one I ever do that involves music.”

Sammy almost jumped back in surprise as Susie immediately ran over to the right-side of him and sat down, grabbing both of his hands at lightning speed. “Sammy, don’t say that! You’re an amazing song writer!” She proclaimed. “You gave the show a spark with your music!”

“…I did?” Sammy asked, immediately feeling stupid after saying it.

“Certainly,” Norman concurred. “You gave that old black and white show some color.”

“Yeah!” Wally jumped in. “I…‘overheard’ some conversations while looking for my keys-”

“Of course you did.”

“-And while they might not think you’re the BEST of company, they think your music is great!” Wally finished.

“You see, Sammy? Your work is amazing.” Henry assured. He gave Sammy a light pat on the back, smiling. “I’m sure you’ll find a job in no time…and if that doesn’t motivate you, Joey said you wouldn’t last a month out after he overcame his shock, so do it to spite him.”   

Sammy couldn’t help but let out a light laugh at that. “Thank you.” He said, the edges of his mouth quirked upwards. It almost looked like a smile, but it didn’t last long as he ended up giving Henry a confused frown.  “But honestly, why do you still work with him?”

Henry stopped for a moment, a look of thoughtfulness on his face as he contemplated why he did.

“Well…” He began. “I guess I…feel like I have to. I mean, I know Joey can be…well, Joey, but he’s still my friend and I helped him make the studio. I know he’s made some bad decisions lately, especially with the Ink Machine, but I’m sure I can help spin him around. Besides, I like working on the Bendy Cartoons.”

“Not to mention you’re the one with common sense.” Norman pointed out.

“Oh, definitely. If I leave Joey will make decisions worse then the Ink Machine.”

“Henry’s the only guy that’s keeping Joey from taking away my wrench to ‘appease the gods’ or something!” Wally piped up.

“Well, the last part is certainly understandable.” Sammy agreed, shrugging as he did. “Joey IS bad enough as it is.”

“Aside from that…” Susie started to speak as she put her hand on Sammy’s shoulder, giving him a lenient smile. “You okay now?”

“I think so.”

At the reply, Susie jumped up, pulling Sammy up along with her. “Great!” She chirped, her bright curls bouncing as she excitedly spoke. “You’re going to go places, you got that?”

“Yeah, I got it.” Sammy replied, smi-wait, what?

“Wait a minute…is he…is that a full, actual, genuine smile?” Wally asked in astonishment. “Geez, I thought he lacked the facial muscles for that!”

Sammy whipped his head towards him with a glare. “Shut up, Franks!” He snapped.

“He’s even smiling as he’s saying that! What has this world come to!?” Wally exclaimed, grabbing tuffs of his hair in over-exaggeration.

Susie gave a soft laugh and rolled her eyes at his antics before turning back to Sammy. “Anyways, write to us when you’re able to, okay?”

“I’ll read how well you’re doing out loud to Joey.” Henry volunteered.

“Please do.” Sammy said as he nodded. He turned back to Susie. “You know, you don’t have to stay in this studio too. Joey’s not the right guy to be working for.”

Susie waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about me, Sammy! I’ll be okay. You worry about your future, alright?”

“Oh, looks like there’s some ro-ow! Norman, what was that for!?” Wally rambled, grabbing his arm in pain as Norman simply gave him a deadpan expression.

“Okay.” Sammy agreed. He checked his wristwatch. “Well it’s half-past ink-ruined-my-goddamn-watch. I should probably get going.”

Henry chuckled. “See ya, Sammy. Don’t forget to write.”

The group waved at Sammy until he was no longer visible from the studio. He walked home, the looks he was being given still meaning nothing to him.

There were two people that even recognized the cause of the ink, one of them taking one look at Sammy before turning to the other and saying ‘That’s why I quit.’

Finally, he arrived home. At that point, he was incredibly tired and ready to just take a shower and go to sleep.

He would go job searching first thing in the morning.

Joey Drew made a lot of statements about a lot of things, most of which were definitely wrong.

He just hoped Joey’s statement about not being able to find a job would be wrong, too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter but I just wanted to write about Sammy's new job and such. Also, if anyone's wondering the current year in the story 1937 (There's gonna be a time-skip later) Hope you like this even though it's short!

Well it appeared that, once again, Joey Drew was incorrect.

Sammy did find a job, and one that was ten million times better than that hellhole known as Joey Drew Studios.

The next morning, after a whole kettle-pot worth of coffee and a stale breakfast that looked more like garbage taken from a rotting trash receptacle than scrambled eggs and toast (Seriously, the man did NOT know how to cook) Sammy set out to find a new job.

Things were going to be unbelievably tough, Sammy knew that much. Joey and the studio may have been fine, but a LOT of people were unemployed nowadays; Sammy himself barely scraped by before he got the job at the bar and eventually started working for Drew, who’s company still somehow thrived despite his absurd spending methods.

However, despite the tough situation he was in, he still managed to get himself a job unbelievably quickly.

He got a job at another studio in the city, one that Joey Drew despised because it was nothing but a lying, copying, garbage studio that just wants to cash in on Bendy’s fame; his words, not Sammy’s.

The studio’s name was Wishful Works Company. It was a small business, but despite it’s size it thrived through it’s various cartoons and live-action shorts.

Being a smaller company, help was wanted by the owner, so Sammy was one of the first people to show up to see about getting a job.

Well, after Sammy had the interview and the owner, Jones Wyatt, saw some of the music he made, not only did Jones think his music would be a perfect addition to the shows but he was actually a previous worker at Joey Drew Studios that had quit before Sammy arrived to start a more reasonable business.

“Oh, so you were a worker at that horrible studio, too?” Jones asked during the interview. “I heard from a friend he got some weird ink machine installed.”

“Yes, he has. I worked there for about three years now-” Sammy was cut off by the sound of Jones choking and gagging on his tea. Once the coughing subsided and he got his breathing under control, he gave Sammy a look of astonishment.

“Three years?” Jones, despite trying to act professional, could not hold back the disbelief he had. “I didn’t even last a month.”

“Um, well…it was a tough three years.”

Needless to say, Jones wrote ‘Works EXTREMELY well when under pressure’ in his notebook.

Sammy was hired that same day, and was even informed by his new boss that he wouldn’t have to worry-there would be no spontaneous deadline changes, no distractions, and no hazardous floods that result in ink poisoning.

Jones sent him home for that day, but promised to have a workplace set up for him by the time he arrived for work tomorrow morning.

After he celebrated by getting himself some actual properly cooked food and a drink, he immediately sat at his old kitchen table and wrote a letter, addressing it to Henry.

_Hey Henry,_

_You guys were right. I got a job at that studio-Joey-won’t-let-anyone-say-the-name-of the day after I quit. It’s kind of far from where I live, but I think I can manage. I’m probably going to be considered the lowest of scum by Joey’s standards for joining the company, but I hate him so who really cares?_

_Anyways, I’m going to keep this short because just writing with this ink is making me feel nauseous, but you’re all free to write to me anytime. Yes, even you, Wally. Just don’t ask me where your keys are._

_Except for Joey._

_He can go drown in a vat of ink._

_With lots of love (Not really) and with respect to Drew (HAHAHAno)_

_Sammy._  

Sammy smiled as he neatly folded and placed the paper in the envelope, carefully creasing it shut with the tips of his fingers.

The smile, however, was more of a bitter one directed towards Joey than one of genuine nature.

He sent it out with the smile still on his face.

He hoped Joey would appreciate it.

* * *

Joey didn’t appreciate it.

A few days later the letter arrived, and after Henry read it out-loud to the whole studio, (The man was true to his word!) Joey ripped the letter out of Henry’s hands and crunched it in one of his large fists before throwing it on the ground and practically barking at everyone to stop their childish behavior (The _Irony_ ) and to get back to their damn work.

Joey stormed back to his office, slamming the door so hard that it caused the entire room to shake for a moment.

The man fumed, more steam coming out of his ears than a locomotive.

If he knew that scum was going to join that Cash-In company ran by that Wyatt, he never would've hired the man.

He paced back and forth, his stomping loud enough that even the lower floors could hear the muffled thumps. 

Eventually, he sighed in frustration.

There was no point.

Sammy was a traitor. He was a disgrace to the studio, plain and simple.  

He didn’t deserve a chance to be involved in his plans. He wasn’t worthy. He never was. He didn’t need him.

This next project was going to be the best one yet.

This was going to make the studio live on.

He just knew it.    


	4. Chapter 4

_Dear Sammy,_

_That’s great! I’m really happy to hear that you’re doing well._

_I read the letter to Joey…suffice to say, he wasn’t very pleased (Though that probably was your intention, anyways)_

_Wyatt’s a really swell guy. I’m sure you’ll like it a lot more than here._

_Anyways, I think Joey’s watching me. Sorry I gotta make this short._

_Good luck!_

_Henry._

_Dear Henry,_

_Thanks, and Wyatt’s a much better and nicer boss than Joey. His deadlines are reasonable and there are very little distractions. My office is also quiet and not to mention soundproof. Overall, it makes figuring out tunes a whole easier than when I worked at Hell Inkcorporated (Speaking of ink, I’m surprised I never got poisoned.)_

_Lately, Wyatt’s been getting more popular. He’s been making more money and getting more workers. I think he’s planning on making the studio bigger, too._

_Well, I don’t have much else to report on, so I’m going to have to end this here and get back to work. Cartoon songs don’t write themselves, you know?_

_Sammy._

_Hi, Sammy!_

_Henry showed me your letters, and I’m super glad that you’re doing well. See, I told you that you’d do amazing!_

_I’ve been doing well at the studio myself. A lot of people love my Alice Angel voice. I just know she and I are going places!_

_As for Joey…you were right about him. I thought he was fine at first but now he just seems…off. I’m just hoping he doesn’t go completely nuts._

_Well, even if he’s a oddball, I still really like playing Alice. I feel…connected with her, I guess? I just really enjoy voicing her more than the other characters I’ve voiced and I want to keep voicing her._

_Wow, I know I ramble but I didn’t know I’d do it on paper!_

_Take care, grouchy._

_Susie_ _:)_

_Hello Susie,_

_I’m glad you’re having a better experience with the studio then I was. Your voice fits really well with Alice. She might even be as popular as Bendy someday._

_As for Joey, I’m pretty sure he went completely nuts awhile ago. Just be careful around him. Insults aside, I literally think there’s something wrong with the guy._

_Also, I’m not grouchy. I’m just emotionally drained._

_Sammy._

_Hi again, Sammy!_

_I’m glad you think my voice matches. You’ve been in this sort of business for awhile so It’s encouraging!_

_Some people left the studio. I think they’ve gone to Wishful Works too. Joey FREAKED when they left. I think he made one of them cry._

_Something really weird happened today, too. Joey invited me for lunch. I declined it because he just makes me feel uncomfortable._

_All of a sudden, he stops smiling and just gives me this emotionless stare for a few seconds before he goes ‘very well’ and heads back to his office._

_I don’t know what to make of that guy. Even Henry isn’t sure. His writing seems alright, though. I was given a bunch of stuff to voice today and nothing seems off._

_If you see anybody we know at your work tell them I said hi, okay?_

_Susie_ _:)_

_Hey, Lawrence!_

_It’s me, Wally! Remember me?_

_Don’t worry, I’m not sending you a letter about my keys or anything (But if you had a idea of where I left them if such a scenario ever happened letting me know would be appreciated), I just figured you’d like to know what’s been going on in the studio. Hey, I technically rhymed!_

_Anyways, Joey got a new music writer. He’s apparently a ‘dear friend’ or something. I wasn’t really paying that much attention to his introduction since I was too busy mopping up more ink from those leaky pipes and totally not looking for the keys that I didn’t lose (Again, letting me know so I’ll be prepared if it happens would be SUPER appreciated)._

_But that’s not the point. Point is, that guy? He’s WEIRD. I mean, Joey’s off with his whole ‘god-appeasing’ thing, but this guy gives me winter-level chills._

_He has this really wide, freaky smile that he never drops and sometimes he speaks normally and then other times he draws out every word he speaks!_

_Not to mention his music; sorry, but it’s garbage. It’s a jumble of weird churning and clanking and dripping sounds, and I swear I hear some mumbling under all of that junk._

_I swear, if things get any weirder, I’m outta here!_

_From your pal, Wally._

_Hi Susie…and Franks._

_Sorry about not answering sooner. My mother asked that I take care of my younger sister for a week as she was gone on a business trip. I got caught up in taking care of Allie while trying to get work done, so I'm sorry for not answering sooner. (Thank god Wyatt let me work on them at home for the time being.)_

_I saw some of the employees from the studio working at Wishful when I came back, and yes, I did send them your greetings._

_As for Joey’s response, are you sure you want to stay working here? I’m sure Wyatt would love to have you as a employee. Joey is seriously unstable. I don’t think you should work for him._

_As for Franks, ‘hypothetically speaking’ your keys would probably be in one of the trashcans like usual, but I wouldn’t worry since you’d probably have to be a idiot to do that (Oh, wait.)_

_About the music…I know about that. I brought Allie out to the pictures after she begged me to go and I had the displeasure of hearing it myself. That cluttered mess of noises has no right to be called a composition. I’m pretty sure I read something about Joey getting complaints from parents because it was scaring their kids and making them cry._

_Well, I’d recommend actually getting ‘out of here’ sooner rather then later, Franks. It’s clearly not a nice place to be in._

_Sammy_

_Sammy, I feel awful._

_I went into the studio today only to find out that I was up and replaced by someone named Allison Pendle._

_I loved voicing Alice Angel, but Joey didn’t even give me a memo for it!  The only thing I get to voice now are talking chairs._

_I know Joey’s bad but…I just loved playing Alice, you know?_

_Do you think it’s because I didn’t want to go out for lunch with Joey that one time? Should I talk to him?_

_I really feel terrible right now and I don’t know what to do._

_I just hope there’s something I can do to fix it._

_Susie_

_Are you serious?_

_I knew Joey was bad but really? I swear to god, they better make it legal for people that have the name Sammy to attack him because that’s what I want to do right now._

_Honestly, with Joey I’m never sure what to do. The man’s a damn cuckoo clock._

_Try talking to Henry, maybe?_

_Sammy_

_Hey, Lawrence._

_You doing alright?_

_This little…company…hasn’t been doing too well. Bunch of news and complaints about that strange man and his…music. Apparently it’s making kids have nightmares or something, not that I blame them. I’m pretty sure I would be quaking in my boots if I was one of them._

_Drew still has more episodes planned, but I actually think they’re closing to a end due to all the complaints. I hope it’s soon, honestly. I might not be bothered by this place but I know plenty of people who are._

_Norman_ _._

_Dear Sammy_

_Sorry I haven’t spoken to you in long time. Joey’s been piling work on me and I haven’t found the time to write._

_Finally, after so many years we’re finished the last Bendy Cartoon. I am unbelievably relieved. After dealing with so much I can finally relax._

_According to Joey after the he has one more thing planned, but after that he told me I won’t have to work there ever again._

_A bit odd for him, but at this point? I don’t care._

_I’m going on a vacation with Linda after all of this._

_Henry_

_Hi, Sammy!_

_I have awesome news! Joey told me Allison quit, so he’s letting me voice Alice for the big final project! I’m super excited!_

_I know you don’t like anything made by Joey, but I hope you watch the finale!_

_Susie_ _:)_

_Hey guys,_

_That’s awesome. I’m glad you guys are doing well._

_I’ll watch the finale, as long as you guys watch the movie our company produced._

_Let me know how you guys are doing afterwards._

_Sammy._

_I have to move to New York._

_Wyatt has gotten incredibly popular and has moved his business because of it._

_I’ll still send mail and give you my new address, but the mail will take a lot longer to arrive._

_Sammy_

_Hey, how’s everything going? It’s been awhile since I heard from you guys._

_I haven’t seen anything on the project yet. You guys almost finished?_

_Sammy_

_Joey, are you taking my letters? If so, go choke on ink._

_Sammy (I still hate you, Joey)_

_Hello?_

_Sammy_

* * *

 

_He lied to us._

_Henry  
_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I just wanted to thank everyone for their reviews! I really appreciate them and it always puts a smile on my face to see them, so thank you guys for making my day! :D

The living room was disorganized and cluttered, a ragbag of various objects and papers covering the surface of almost every table. Stacked in two large, old, spruce wood bookcases were music books containing mainly jazz and other genres. 

Unwashed coffee mugs lay about here and there. The broken radiator had about two; the kitchen counter had about seven.

A man sat at the dinner table that was pretty much his work desk at this point, gulping down another mug of coffee as he finished writing his next piece. He just couldn’t get the last part right…

His frustration subsided as he felt something brush against his ankle, followed by a soft, murmuring purr.

He looked down, seeing his green-eyed, grey tabby butting her head against his leg, practically screaming for him to pet her.

The man sighed, pushing his chair away from the table. “Again, Maestro? You must really love bothering me.”

The cat hopped up onto the man’s lap, pawing at and snuggling into his chest.

“Hey now, I’m not your bed.” The man frowned. “You’re bed isn’t stiff and looks like it hasn’t been washed for a week, remember?”

The cat merely pushed her head against his chin in response.

The man sighed and scratched Maestro behind her ears, realizing it was hopeless.

It had been 34 years since Sammy had left the studio.

34 years since he had quit, 32 years since the last Bendy episode had aired, and 25 years since Sammy had received Henry’s final letter.

Sammy had no idea what Henry’s final letter meant. When he first read the tiny piece of paper and saw the messy, rushed writing smudged with thick ink, he was completely confused. Unfortunately, however, he never got the chance to find out; no other letter he had sent was given a response afterwards.

Sammy had considered traveling back a few times after the last letter to see give some of them a visit, but work often got in the way. At the time of the last letter he wasn’t just working for Jones Wyatt; other people were interested in his music and wanted him to write catchy jingles for commercials and cartoons. Breaks were pretty much nonexistent for him, so going to a city that would require a airplane to get there quickly was out of the question as well.

Eventually, Sammy forgot about it. The studio was most certainly dead at that point, and everyone working there had more than likely gone to live their separate lives.

Sammy was 57 now, still living in downtown New York in a townhouse. Despite his age he had still managed to remain the same tall, lean fellow he was when he was in his twenties. Of course that didn’t mean everything stayed the same-his brown hair had lost it’s rich color and had become faded and greyed, he had wrinkles under his eyes that weren’t just from a lack of sleep, and his once sharp vision had weakened, causing him to require reading glasses for smaller prints.

Other then the physical changes, Sammy’s personality remained the same. He was still a grouch that hated getting pried away from his work, and he still was a coffee addict that didn’t know how to use a potato peeler without slicing his hand open.

The only distraction Sammy tolerated was his family, and that included Maestro. Maestro may have been annoying at times but she was one of the main reasons Sammy hadn’t completely collapsed from stress.

“You can be a little shit sometimes, you know that?”

The cat merely let out a soft, happy little ‘mew’ at the statement.

Sammy huffed, about to pick her up and place her back down onto the floor so he could get his work done when suddenly Maestro stopped snuggling into him and her head shot up, ears perked and eyes wide.

Sammy raised his eyebrows, giving the cat a bemused expression. “What is it this time? Mice?”

Following Sammy’s question, there was a loud squeak. Sammy looked up from Maestro to the front door, seeing a yellow envelope slip through the mail slot and fall onto the ‘No one is welcome here’ rug before the opening of the slot clanked shut.

Maestro jumped off of Sammy and landed onto the table, eyes still wide and body still rigid as Sammy got up and went over to the envelope.

He knelt down and picked it up, observing the envelope; there didn’t seem to be a stamp or address on it…

Maestro suddenly let out a loud hiss. The cat arched it’s back, growling and snarling as if someone had just stomped on her tail.

Now Sammy was very perplexed. Maestro hardly ever got mad, and even then it was mainly just low growls, not full on rage.

“What’s up with you today, anyways? Did you get into my coffee or something?” The cat continued to hiss, her emerald eyes fixated on the letter he had in his hand. “If you start tearing up stuff I’m not buying any of your favourite cat treats for a week.”

Sammy went back to his seat, Maestro backing to the edge of the table, still hissing.

He opened the yellowed envelope, revealing a card that appeared to be aged parchment. Ignoring Maestro’s growing agitation, he took the card out of the envelope and examined it.

_Dear Sammy_

_It’s been quite a while, hasn’t it? Over thirty years._

_Time sure does fly, huh?_

_Anyways, I wanted to inform you that during the years you were gone I’ve greatly improved the studio. If you’re ever in the area, drop by. I’m sure you’ll be impressed and realize the grave mistake you made when you quit. I forgive you for your wrongdoings, friend, do not worry._

_Maybe you’ll even consider working here again._

_Joey Drew_

At first, Sammy was surprised at the letter. He thought that studio would’ve closed down by now; that, or that Joey Drew would’ve already succumbed to his raging blood pressure and passed away in a fit of anger.

Then, Sammy got angry.

After all these years, Joey still thought HE was the one in the wrong? That his injurious behavior had nothing to do with him quitting and that Sammy was the one who committed unkind actions?

“Hah, very funny…” Sammy muttered. “Why don’t you go screw yourself, Joey.”

Sammy tore the letter in-half and threw it into the trash bin, not regretting the action for even a second.

The moment he threw that letter away, Maestro almost instantaneously calmed. She sat on the desk, her tail flipping back and forth, knocking some of the papers.

He gave the cat an odd look. Why was she so worked up?

Eventually, he shrugged. It’s not like Maestro could tell him why.

“Alright, get off my desk. I’ve got work to do.”

The moment he sat back down, Maestro hopped back onto his lap.

He groaned. “Goddamn it, really?”

She purred loudly in response.

“…Should’ve been more specific."  _  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know he threw it away, but don't worry; there's still more to come :)


	6. Chapter 6

When Sammy had tossed away the letter, he thought that would’ve been the of it. He figured after throwing it in the trash he wouldn’t hear anything from Joey again, at least not for a long time.

Well boy, he was wrong.

Two days after receiving the letter, Sammy was cleaning up the kitchen (His sister threatened that if he didn’t make his house look at least presentable she would send their famous-for-lecturing mother down) when he heard the clank of the mail slot.

Turning his head away from the sink and looking down the hall, he saw another, familiar-looking envelope on the rug.

After turning off the sink and drying his hands, he went over and picked it up, examining it once more.

There was no address, and the envelope’s paper looked yellowed with age…quite similar to the envelope from two days ago-

Sammy’s skeleton nearly jumped out of his skin when Maestro, who was just coming down the stairs after a long nap, saw the letter and let out a loud and angry meow.

“Jesus, Maestro.” Sammy sighed in exasperation as the cat continued to hiss, her head poking out from between the bars of the wooden railing.

Sammy looked back at the letter. This felt all too similar to the other incident…

He opened the envelope, and pulled out the slip of familiar, aged parchment paper.

_Dear Sammy…_

It was the exact same letter.

No difference, no change or placement in the letters; exactly in the same spot in the previous one.

Sammy felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. All of this, the letter, his calm cat growling like a Grizzly Bear…it all felt WAY too similar to what had transpired two days ago, and what he did next to the letter was no different.

He ripped the letter in-half once more, crunching up the pieces in his hands for good measure, before tossing it into the trash can once more.

Just like before, Maestro ceased her growling and relaxed, her eyes bright and wide again.

Sammy went back to cleaning up the kitchen, trying to shake away the eerie feelings he felt as he scrubbed the coffee mugs.

But it didn’t stop there.

The next day, Sammy got up and went downstairs only to find two envelopes on the mat.

Opening up both of them, he found the same message, just as before.

While Sammy was weirded out by this for obvious reasons, he was starting to get more annoyed.

What the hell was Joey’s problem?

That same day, he decided to send good old Joey a letter. It was simple, yet elegant and got the point across.

_Dear Joey_

_Fuck off._

_Sammy_

…He got five more of them the following day.

It continued on and on, more and more of the same letters coming in each day and all of them filling the garbage. Sammy was getting so irritated that the whole strangeness of it all was nothing compared to the sheer annoyance of it.

There was no address on them and they were arriving at his door so fast that sending them wouldn’t make a difference, and aside from the handwriting being obviously Joey’s, Sammy didn’t have enough proof so he wouldn’t be able to get a restraining order to cease the letters.

What was worse? Apparently, no one from the postal office brought those letters. Someone else was putting them in and whenever he opened the door immediately after the letters came in, there was no one there.

Despite how unusual it was, Sammy didn’t care about any of the strangeness at that point; they were a distraction.

And boy, did he HATE distractions.

The letters mainly arrived while he was working, too, which was the probably the most awful part of it all. He would be writing or playing his music only to have the irritating squeak and clank of the mail slot mess him up; the most annoying time out of all of them was probably when he was testing out a jazzy song he wrote on the piano for a movie.

“I remember the nights-”

SQUEAK! CLANK!

“…the stars and moonlight-”

SQUEAK! CLANK!

“…and-”

SQUEAK! CLANK!

“How-”

SQUEAK! CLANK!

“……….I-”

SQUEAK! CLANK!

At that point, the sound of the mail slot was drowned out by the sound of Sammy’s head slamming onto the piano in frustration.

Sammy was getting tired. It had been a month and he already had over four hundred letters. He often ended up forgetting to throw them away sometimes too, so the letters got mixed up with bills and music sheets and would appear while he was rummaging through stuff to torture him some more.

He was currently working, praying to god almighty he’d only get ten letters today when he heard a loud knock on the door.

“IF THAT’S WHO I THINK IT IS IT BETTER NOT BE!” Sammy shouted, so loud that the entire neighbourhood could probably hear him.

“Aw man, did mom tell you!?”

Sammy looked up from his work at the familiar voice. He got up from the table and headed to the porch. Opening the door, he was greeted his brown-haired, freckled, thirteen-year old niece.

“April?” Sammy looked her at her in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Awesome, so mom didn’t tell-I mean, hi!” April gave him a large smile. “I was just out for a walk and wanted to visit my awesome Uncle Sam!”

“Don’t call me that.” Sammy deadpanned. April’s mouth curved to a pout.

“Geez, you never no how to take a joke.” She huffed. She then smiled and clasped her hands together. “But as I was saying, I just wanted to visit my amazing uncle!”

“Amazing? If I recall both you and your mother think I’m what happens when you mash workaholic, disorganization and self-regret together.” Sammy pointed out. “And what were you saying earlier about Allie calling-”

“Oh, don’t worry about that!” April waved one of her hands dismissively as she appeared to be nervously sweating. “Point is, I’m here!”

“…you’re grounded, aren’t you?”

April stood still for a few more seconds before her smile fell and she uttered out an overdramatic groan, her shoulders slumping down as her grey eyes darted away Sammy’s stern gaze. “Yes…” She admitted. “I snuck out of the house while mom was visiting one of the neighbours.”

“And you walked here of all places?”

“None of my other friends could hang out.” April explained. “Besides, being grounded is so BORING. There’s nothing to do for fun!”

“Well yeah, it isn’t supposed to be fun. It’s a punishment.” Sammy scoffed. “And I don’t think coming here is the best way to cure your boredom.”

“Maybe not, but Maestro always lifts my spirits!” April chirped, Sammy now only just noticing Maestro on the stairs. “Hi sweetie!”

Maestro let out a happy noise, squeezing through one of the bars of the railing to hop on April’s shoulders. “Aw, the little sugar still likes me…” She cooed, giggling as that cat butted it’s head against her face.

“She likes everyone.” Sammy replied. “At least if they're not a letter…”

“Hm?”

“Nothing. So, you’ve seen Maestro, now what?” Sammy inquired.

“Well, I might as well make sure you’ve been keeping your place tidy.” April reasoned, poking her head into the dining room. “Oh, one less coffee mug then before! Making progress.”

She started walking around the dining room, frowning as she inspected the place. “But look at all these papers!” She grabbed a handful of them from the table. “You’re gonna get them all mixed up if you don’t use folders or something. I mean, look! You have a letter you haven’t even opened yet-”

“Wait, don’t open that!” Sammy left his spot at the doorway, walking over to her just as Maestro hopped off her shoulders and landed onto the table, growling at the letter.

April backed up. “Whoa!” She exclaimed, giving Maestro a worried look. “What, does this letter contain the rabies virus or something?”

“No.” Sammy answered, hastily taking the letter from her. “Calm down, Maestro. See?”

He opened the envelope and ripped up the contents. Immediately, Maestro calmed.   

April looked at Sammy incredulously. “Why on earth was she so freaked out about a letter?” She asked. “What was in that, anyways?”

“I have no idea why she’s freaked out by them; she just is. As for your second question…a message from Joey Drew.”

“THAT guy? You mean the one that made that show that everyone in school thinks is cursed?” April inquired.

“Well he’s also, y’know, that jerk I worked for but sure, the guy who made the spooky cursed stuff.” Sammy answered sarcastically.

April rolled her eyes. “I know that. What I want to know is what the big deal is with the letter.”

“Joey keeps on sending me them.” He explained. “Since last month I’ve been getting more and more of the same exact letters every single day. There’s no address, and no one working at the postal office is sending them, either, so unless I move there’s literally nothing I can do about it.”

“How many letters have you gotten now?”

“Approximately four hundred and twenty five.”

April choked on air and nearly coughed up a lung at the response.

“F-Four hundred and twenty five!?” She coughed. “That’s…that’s a bit much!”

“I know.” Sammy sighed. “By the end of next week I’ll probably have five hundred.”

“What do the letters even say?” Asked April, finally getting over her coughing and having Maestro on her shoulders once more.

“They keep on telling me to check out the studio, something I’m NOT going to do.” Sammy assured, although it was more directed towards himself than towards April.

“You said there’s nothing you can do, right?”

“Yep.” Sammy nodded.

“…Why not?”

“Why not what?”

“Why not go to the studio?”

“Why not-April, do you know how awful Joey was?” Sammy asked rhetorically.

“Oh boy, here we go…”

“He was mentally abusive to me, his employees, and even his best friend!” Sammy rambled, pacing back and forth. “Do you want to know what he said the day I left?”

April sighed.

“Sammy won’t last a month.” The two said in unison.

“Exactly! Now, he’s sending me letters and harassing me to leave New York and see his studio! I am NOT letting him win.” Sammy spat, folding his arms in defiance.

“Geez, no wonder mom use to call you Spiteful Sammy…” April rolled her eyes before she dawned a more serious expression. “Look Sammy, if there’s nothing you can do about him harassing you, you NEED to go down and make him know it’s not okay. Just go yell it in his face and if he refuses, punch him! …Okay, maybe not do THAT per say, but call a cop or get a restraining order while your there since you’ll have enough proof. Get him in all SORTS of trouble.”

“Look, mature advice, but this is Joey we’re talking about. He’ll still consider it a victory. Besides, I have to take care of Maestro.”

April snorted. “Hah, you think I’m mature…but seriously, who cares if he considers it a victory? As long as you can live your life distraction free-and I know for a fact you like that-it’ll certainly be a victory for you. Besides, we can take care of Maestro! You know how much she and Hooper get along.”

April jolted, causing Maestro to jump off her as a loud honk was heard from outside.

“APRIL JOANNE LAWRENCE! YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS TO GET OUT HERE BEFORE I GET YOU MYSELF!”

“Oh golly…” April’s eyes were as wide as fine china.

Sammy smirked. “Well, didn’t take her too long in figuring out where you were. Like mother, like daughter, I suppose.”

“I gotta go!” April ran up to the door. As she yanked it open she called out to Sammy. “ThinkaboutwhatIsaidokaybye!”

Sammy could hear the angry voice of his sister beginning to chew out April as she got into the car.

Sammy sighed, considering April’s advice.

The amount of letters he was receiving was awful, yes, but going to the studio was the LAST thing he wanted to do at that point. The people he got along with at the studio were most certainly gone at that point, and he was not in the slightest bit interested in seeing Joey.

That same night, Sammy was eating store-bought supper when a large crash followed by a snarl was heard.

Sammy ran into the porch, and what greeted him made him both shocked and sick.

There was a gigantic pile of letters in front of the door. Probably at least a hundred.

All from Joey Flipping Drew.

Maestro sat on the highest stair, snarling and growling at the site of the letters.

After filling all of his trash bags with the blasted things and trying to calm his cat down, Sammy sat on the couch in his living room in silence, not saying a word and not even responding to Maestro after she jumped onto the couch and started trying to snuggle into him.

Finally, after about five minutes, he leaned over to the phone that was on the end table and called his sister.

“Hey, Allie?”

“Hi, Sammy. What’s up?”

“…Do you think maybe Maestro could stay with you guys for a bit?”


	7. Chapter 7

“You’ll make sure Maestro’s taken care of, right?”

“Sammy, for the last time, yes!” Allie exasperatingly told her brother for the third and hopefully final time, holding the cat carrier at her side while also holding her golden retriever by the collar, trying to keep Hooper from jumping up and getting fur all over Sammy’s slacks. “She’ll be fine-Hooper stop pulling!”

April ran up from behind her mother, grabbing the dog by the collar. “Come on, honey! You don’t want to get that old spiteful grouch angry.” She warned as she brought the whining pooch to one of the other rooms.

“Thank you.” Her mother exhaustedly huffed, wiping sweat from her brow.

“Does this mean I’m-?”

“You’re still grounded until the sun burns out, misses.” Allie snapped, ignoring April’s loud whine of frustration. She turned back to Sammy and tried as best as she could to sound as if she wasn’t tired. “Anyways, Maestro will be fine. You’re only staying for a night or two and she and Hooper are practically best friends.”

Sammy had booked a flight for Ohio as well as a motel the day after the letter-incident that eluded the very laws of physics itself and after Allie had agreed to keep Maestro at her home while Sammy was off giving Joey a piece of his mind for the nauseating amount of letters he had sent him. While the musician couldn’t deny the sense of defeat he felt from finally giving into Joey’s demands, having the letters cease was a necessity for his work at that point, and there was no other way to get them to come to a halt then to go to Ohio and tell him himself.

Sammy let out a sigh, scratching the back of his head. “I know…I just feel…” He trailed off, trying to find the right word.

“Uneasy?” Allie finished. She gave a small, understanding smile as Sammy pushed back some of his pride and gave a quick nod.

“…Yeah.” He eventually answered, albeit grudgingly.

Allie chortled softly at the response, putting her hand on his shoulder. “Sammy, that’s perfectly okay.” She assured. “You don’t need to act like feeling uncomfortable around your old boss is a bad thing; based off of what you told me I’d be more concerned if you weren’t. I shouldn’t have to be explaining this to an old guy like you.”

“He’s the kind of old guy that gets more vicious every time he breathes, don’t be surprised!” April called out.

“Get back to your chores, missy!” Allie ordered, although a Sammy noticed a small smirk at the corner of her mouth that she was trying to hide. “Anyhow, tell us how your trip went when you come back, alright? I’m sure Jordan and April would love to hear it.”

April poked her head out of the door. “Hey, don’t speak on my behalf! I mean, I wanna hear it but still.” She looked up at Sammy and gave him a persuasive smile. “You know Uncle Sammy, you should help a niece out of a grounding situation and let me travel with you.”

Allie frowned, grabbing one of April’s ears and pinching it. “The only place you’re traveling to will be the sink.” Allie stated. “Come on, dishes don’t wash themselves!”

“Ow, ow, ow, ow!” April repeated as Allie dragged her back, her face scrunching up as she cringed in pain. “That hurts, that REALLY hurts!”

Allie craned her neck as she headed back inside with April. “I’ll make sure Maestro is well-fed and happy. Call me when you get there!”

“Why can’t-ouch-I be well-fed and-ow!-happy!?” April asked.

“Not being allowed to have dessert for a week for sneaking out doesn’t mean you’re not well-fed!” Allie informed. She exhaled out of both exhaustion and annoyance before turning back to Sammy once more. “Look, have a safe trip, alright?”

Sammy nodded. “I will. Take care.”

“You too, Sammy.”

“But he never takes care of himself-”

“April knock it off!”

The door was slammed shut by Allie, Sammy softly chuckling as he overheard the now-muffled bickering between Allie and her daughter. After he stepped back from the door, he slightly rolled up the sleeve of his and checked his wristwatch.

“Ah shit…” Sammy muttered. The flight was leaving in thirty minutes and if he didn’t hurry soon, he was going to miss it.

Practically yanking his sleeve back down, the man, despite being in his 50’s, practically jumped into his car and sped to the airport.

Sammy had almost felt relaxed and relieved when he took a seat in the airplane, having almost just missed his flight. The guy had been so distracted about getting to the airplane before it took off that he almost walked right into a rotating postcard case, so finally getting to the airplane made his stress levels lower significantly.

Then he remembered why he was on the airplane in the first place and his relief dematerialized into regret and strain.

He REALLY didn’t want to see Joey again. The man was the equivalent of a persistent seagull; bothersome and doing nothing but squawking. He didn’t want to be stuck in a studio with a bunch of new employees, either, knowing that Joey probably spoke nothing but tripe to them about how ‘awful’ Sammy was or something along those lines.

He just prayed that there was at least one old employee that he knew and got along with, and that the dreadful, churning ink machine was out of the picture-

“Excuse me, sir?”

Sammy looked away from the window he was zoning out into, seeing a young, smiling flight attendant.

“I’m sorry, but you need to have your seatbelt on now.”

“Oh,” said Sammy, realizing he had completely neglected his seatbelt. He quickly did his seatbelt up, continuing to talk while he did. “Sorry about that.”

It was then Sammy noticed the plane had started, surprised he was that zoned out as to not notice when something as loud as a airplane had started up. He sat back, closed his eyes, and let out a heavy sigh, trying to relax after hardly getting any sleep from all of the letters he had been sent.

The plane started to move, and not too long after, was up in the air.


	8. Chapter 8

Sammy was in a bad mood.

More so then he usually was, I mean.

All Sammy wanted was to get to his destination and get the lousy trip done and dealt with as soon as possible with little to no distractions, but of course that didn’t happen.

After he was snapped out of his zoned-out state he couldn’t get back into it because of the fact that the god-awful plane was louder than a factory filled with clogged, rusty machinery, and the whole plane reeked of cigar smoke (Contrary to the beliefs of literally everyone he’s ever known, Sammy actually hated cigarettes with a passion.)

Some of the passengers were just as bad, too. Some bratty kid kept on whining and kicking his seat on occasion with the mother barely doing anything to stop the kid, some guy who acted like he had enough money to buy the plane itself went into a massive rant at one of the flight attendants because there wasn’t a certain amount of ice-cubes in his drink, and the guy sitting next to him was snoring louder than a entire sawmill.

So already the flight wasn’t enjoyable, but it got worse.

The plane ended up having some apparent ‘issues’ and needed to land in a different airport while they got the problems resolved. He ended up waiting for FIVE HOURS in the airport, drinking coffee that was the equivalent of water, until they finally figured out what was wrong with the damn thing and sent it back up in the air once more.

Eventually, Sammy finally got to his hometown. Everything, including the wait in the airport, the actual plane ride and the drive to the town, which also had been slowed-down due to the thick mist and sudden rain that pelted his Chrysler, led it to being 9:00 in the night. He almost passed out on his steering wheel as he made his way to motel, noticing it almost immediately from the bright, green neon sign that flickered every so often.

After speaking with the manager, who was kind enough to give him a proper cup of coffee free of charge after finding out about the tiresome ordeal he went through, he got his keys to his small bedroom and got everything set up before heading back out once more.

It was definitely too late to visit the studio now, but there was a certain place he still wanted to visit.

* * *

 

Sammy pulled over to the side of a cobbled road, the area illuminated by the bright signs and the tall, cast-iron streetlamps.

He looked up at the old bar, his place of work before he joined Joey’s Studio. Despite it being so long it was still in business, small yet bustling with life. He got out of his car and went in, smiling to himself as he heard the familiar jingle of the out-of-tune bells played that whenever the door opened.

He wasn’t even there for more than five seconds before he heard a familiar, yet clearly aged voice.

“Sammy?”

Sammy looked up at the bar and this time couldn’t stop himself from smiling every-so-slightly at the familiar bartender.

“Fletcher?”

The old bartender gave the largest grin he could ever muster at the musician, revealing all of his silver fillings as he let out a joyful hoot.

“Sammy!” Fletcher exclaimed the name once again, causing some customers to look away from their drinks, some smiling at the reunion. “How have ya been, man?”

“Good.” Sammy replied. “You’re still working here after all these years?”

“Ain’t gonna stop anytime soon, I’ll tell ya.” Fletcher answered before letting out a raspy chuckle. “I might be sixty but I’m still kicking.”

“If you mean kicking people out!” A local shouted, making others at the same table giggle drunkenly.

“Ay, keep that up I’m cutting you off for the rest of the night, Max!” Fletcher barked to the group before bringing his attention back to Sammy and grinning once again. “Enough bout’ that, though. What are you doing back ‘ere? Last time I heard you was in New York writing some catchy tunes.”

“Well…” Sammy started. “…I came to see the studio.”

A sudden hush went throughout the bar, even the intoxicated barely making a noise aside from slurred murmurs.

Fletcher was the first one to overcome the blanket of silence that had covered the bar, speaking so slowly and so little that he was almost laconic compared to how he normally was.

“…Joey’s Studio?” He asked, the words that rolled of his tongue making some of the locals shiver.

“…yeah.” Sammy answered.

“Why…?” Was all Fletcher could ask.

“To put it simply; Joey was Joey and harassed me to the studio, so I’m giving him a piece of my mind.”

Fletcher’s eyebrows raised for a moment, a look of suspicion etched across his face, before he began to speak once more. “That place…why that ol’ place is nothing but a dump, now. It’s abandoned and rotting like old road-kill.”

“He’s not wrong.” Sammy turned to see one of the more sober locals with a serious look on his face. “Only reason it isn’t even torn down yet is because it’s private property and still belongs to the owner.”

“Joey, you mean?” Sammy asked, to which the man merely shrugged in return.

“That’s not the point, though…there’s rumors about that spot; people-and I’m one of e’m-think there’s something wrong with that place. You best stay the hell away from it.” Fletcher warned.

“Well, according to Joey he’s been trying to ‘improve’ the studio or whatever, and it’s not like I have much of a choice.” Sammy added. “I literally can’t work because of all the crap Joey’s been putting me through. All I’m going to do is go there and teach that pompous bastard a lesson and get out of that studio as soon as possible.”

“You sure about doing that, Sammy?” Fletcher asked once more for good measure.

“He’s a distraction.”

“Well I guess that means absolutely nothing is changing your mind, huh?” Fletcher asked, a small smile on his face at how little Sammy had changed.

“I mean the mere thought of going there is regretful and all, but pretty much, yes.” Sammy nodded.

Fletcher let out a raspy laugh. “Ah, that’s the Sammy I know; as stubborn as an ox, as focused as a monocular, and at times, as hasty as a fire. Wish you wasn’t as careless as the wind went it came to your decisions, though.”

Some of the customers snorted with laughter, some even wishing Sammy luck on his escapade.

“You be safe.” Fletcher told him. “I don’t wanna be reading the paper the next day about how you got a plank of wood lodged in your brain.”

“I will be, don’t worry.” Sammy assured. “Honestly I should go to sleep now-”

“Hey actually, wait a second!” Fletcher stopped. He gestured to an old, dusty instrument that sat in the corner of the bar. “It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”

Sammy eyed the grand piano for a moment before turning back to Fletcher. “Yeah, it has.”

“I know you’re still writing those pieces…think you could play one of e’m?” He asked. “…For old time’s sake?”

While Sammy generally wasn’t the kind of person to pass up playing a instrument, he wasn’t too sure about playing at that moment; he was tired and went through a lot of problems today, after all.

However, before he could say anything someone in the bar called out.

“Yeah! Play us a song, man! You’re music’s awesome!”

“What he said!” Another one piped up. “My brother can’t get most of the commercial jingles out of his head!”

“Please?”

More people began to agree with one another, all asking Sammy to play his music for them.

Finally, Sammy caved in. “Fine.” He sighed. “Don’t yell at me if I pass out on the piano.”

“We won’t. Most of the piano players pass out from alcohol in about half an hour, anyways. We’re use to it.”

Sammy sat on the bench, brushing his fingers lightly against the keys as he remembered the first time he ever played the old thing at the bar.

Then he smiled, closed his eyes, and began to play.

Some customers smiled at the way his hands danced over the keys, treating each note with just as much care as the next one, others simply stared with awe. Fletcher softly chuckled to himself as he swayed to the melodious sounds, wiping the wooden counter as he did so.

Finally, the song had ended, it’s finally note drifting off into a high C. There was a silence over the bar-a calm one this time, however.

“So…” The local, who Sammy recognized as Max, slurred. “Encore?”

“…I suppose so.” Sammy answered.

* * *

 

“Look, I know, I’m sorry…” Sammy started, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he spoke over the phone to his annoyed sister.

“ _I TOLD you to let me know as soon as you got there!_ ” Allie snapped. “ _You should’ve told me as soon as you got into town so I wouldn’t have had to worry; not get drunk at the bar!_ ”

“First of all, I did not get drunk. I got…tipsy.” _Damn it, that still sounds bad._ “Besides, all the delays left me tired. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“ _I’ll say you weren’t._ ”

“ _Oh, someone’s in trouble!_ ”

“ _April, I thought I told you to clean your room!_ ” said Allie.

“ _Yeah, but I just want to say hi to my easily-annoyed-Uncle!_ ” April explained, Sammy hearing muffled sounds that seemed to sound like her trying to grab the phone from her mother. “ _Hey, how are you? What’s flying in an airplane like?_ ”

“ _Hey April, isn’t that Jordan with your Raggedy-Ann doll?_ ” Allie inquired.

“ _What-hey_ _Jordan_ _put that back! That’s mine!_ ” Allie sighed as the brother and sister began bickering, trying to pull the doll away from one another. “ _Look, I have to go. Have a safe trip for the remainder of it, okay? You can come to dinner and tell the kids about it; give Adam and I a break._ ”

Sammy chuckled. “I will. Take care.”

Sammy hung up the phone and let out a sigh. It was ten in the morning right now, and it was the day he could finally get that piece of garbage off his back.

After having a complimentary breakfast that tasted more like his cooking then actual food, Sammy got in his car and pulled out of the motel.

It was around eleven by the time he had finally arrived at the old, worn-down place, surrounded by a broken metal fence covered in moss and dirt. It was easy to get passed the metal fence, being beaten and torn to the point where he didn’t even have to crawl to slip through a massive hole in the fence.

The place looked aged and worn on the outside, dirt and old, black graffiti covering the brick walls.

He looked forward, where the main entrance lay; it seemed to be the only thing that didn’t look old or rusted.

Walking towards the door, he grabbed the handle and let out a soft sigh.

“Alright, Joey. Let’s see what the fuck your problem is.”

Then he twisted the handle, and after letting out one more sigh, pulled open the door.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, since there's gonna be more swearing and scary stuff now I think I might change the rating of this story to a T. Other then that, here's the chapter.

The moment Sammy set foot into the studio and his scuffed-up shoe touched the creaky floor, the man felt himself overcome with a sudden wave of memories.

He frowned at them, looking down at the dusty ground as they played in his mind like reels of film. The wave of memories was less of a wave and more of a storm, the waves mercilessly crashing and frothing at his mind as the miserable feelings pelted him in large droplets.

But even through the merciless storm, there was some peaks of light.

While Sammy never really admitted it, there were moments there that gave him a feeling of nostalgia. He remembered the Christmas parties where Shawn Flynn would go out of the way to decorate the whole place in bright lights and Christmas-themed Bendy toys before getting drunk off of a combination of whiskey and eggnog, when Wally actually decided to be helpful and bought him coffee after his own had been ruined by ink, how Susie often chatted with him when he found himself over-stressed…remembering those kinds of moments made him feel better, if only a little bit.

None of those came from Drew though. He only remembered one good thing from that man, and that was Joey offering Sammy a job. It was an once-in-a-lifetime chance due to the unemployment rate and horrible lifestyle that had occurred from the stock market crash, something so devastating that it had led to his father dying of disease.

He clenched his fists tightly, to the point where his fingernails had dug into the palms of his hands.

He would _never_ forgive Drew for not letting him leave that day.

He still remembered the fear he had, the panic when he realized that if he didn’t leave soon he wasn’t going to make it in time. It was the first time he had cried in front of his coworkers, the band as well as Norman looking on in sadness as small yet noticeable tears filled his eyes when Joey ignored his begging and insisted his dad would be _fine_ , that he could visit him after work.

He never got to say goodbye. His father died thirty minutes after Joey had said that, saddened that he never got a chance to tell his son his favourite joke.

Sammy gritted his teeth, trying to shake away the memories.

He wasn’t there to mellow in anger; he was here to deliver that anger to Joey, and hopefully it would be delivered with a fist to the face.

He pulled his gaze away from the floor, realizing he hadn’t yet had a chance to really look at the place.

The moment he did, he almost completely stopped thinking. All he could do was stare at his surroundings.

The studio hadn’t improved _at all_.

The air was thick and musty with dust, more particles floating around through the air than his attic, and he wasn’t even out of the entrance way yet he already could tell how decrepit it was, old floorboards sticking out and parts of the wall missing, only covered by bits of plywood nailed to the wall.

And so far, there didn’t seem to be anyone else in the wretched place.

“Was this your idea of a joke, Drew!?” Sammy demanded, his voice echoing off the walls. “What, did you think it up while you were high off of ink fumes and thought it would be good for a chuckle!?”

…there was no answer.

Grumbling, Sammy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, fuck it.” He muttered, before cupping his hands to his mouth and calling out. “Joey, where the hell are you!?”

Sammy began to walk, his shoes clacking loudly against the old wooden floor of the studio as he observed the area around him. Old posters of some of the original cartoons were plastered onto the walls (Unsurprisingly, considering how much of a show off Joey was), the posters consisting mainly of “Sheep Songs”, “Little Devil Darling”, and “The Dancing Demon”. He took another step, before he felt something fall onto his head, like a raindrop.

Stopping, Sammy looked up only to reel back with an even more nauseous feeling when he saw globs of ink dribbling from the ceiling onto the floor.

“Oh…go and fuck yourself…” Sammy grumbled. He REALLY hoped he’d find Drew soon; he did NOT want to stay here much longer.

Sighing he began to walk once more, examining the area. It was ominous and dreary and yellowed with age, hallways and entrances looking dark from far away, like they were blocked by the thick black smoke from  There was a white light on the wall from a projector, the light flickering every so often.

“…okay…that’s not creepy at all…” Sammy said to himself as he turned right, still remembering the way around the studio even after all these years. “What is this, a haunted…house…?”

He trailed off at the sight before him.

Plastered onto the wall in front of him was dozens of drawings.

They weren’t posters for any new cartoons or something along those lines. They were all rough sketches, not blackened by ink but blackened by pencils held by someone who clearly applied to much pressure onto the sheets.

They were all drawings of people.

The pictures that lined the wall had contained different-shaped heads and different-shaped bodies wearing outfits that were mainly popular in the thirties. Some had short hair while others had long hair, some had bright wide eyes while others had almond shaped eyes, and some pictures had been completely covered-up in scribbles of pencil and were barely recognizable.

But that wasn’t what freaked Sammy out, oh no.

It was the comments some of them had on the corners or in the middles of the pictures.

Things such as ‘ _No_ ’ or _‘WRONG’_ littered most of the drawings, along with other words of similar calibre, hastily scribbled and messy, as if the person was in a rush and could barely get a word written on the page-

 _He lied to us._  

Sammy froze with a sudden realization.

…He knew who’s writing this belonged to.

“The hell…”

He took one of the pieces of paper from the wall, examining the paper. It was one of the only drawings that didn’t seem to have any negative comments or scratches.

He didn’t really have a explanation for Henry making all of these drawings and then pasting them on the walls like a madman; he hadn’t heard anything of him since his final letter, after all.

“Joey must’ve really been freaking you out…” Sammy muttered.  

He let go of the paper, letting it flutter to the ground and get stained by smudges of ink on the floor.

_If making employees mental was what he meant by ‘improving’ then I swear to god…_

That thought only made him want to find Joey and give him a piece of his mind even more.

Sammy started walking down the darkened hallway, his hands in his pockets as he looked around with much distain, finding himself feeling even more distain when he saw the Ink Machine up ahead.

Even after all of those years he not only still kept the bloody thing, but had it running, too.

The off-putting machine stood in the center of a large, square room, pipes filled with oozing ink branching out from the back of it.

Gears slowly churned as ink dribbled out of the mouth of the machine, the putrid smell of ink getting stronger every second Sammy was there.

“Ugh…” He gagged, covering his mouth and nose at how strong the caustic smell was. He stepped back from the machine, before he turned to his left and walked down another hall, not observing as much as before as all the walls, floors, and ceilings were the same dreary, damp plywood as the other rooms.

However, despite not looking around as much, he still noticed that there were a LOT of cardboard cut-outs of Bendy the Dancing Demon lying around; looks like Joey enjoys advertising his stuff even in his own studio, it seems. He continued to walk, they’re eyes seemed to follow him as they gave him big, unmoving, cartoon grins; creepy.

He came across Henry’s animation desk, letting out a sigh as he saw the papers and papers of drawings similar to what was on the walls earlier. He picked up the thick stack of papers from the desk, flipping through it’s pages.

The first pages seemed fine. They were simply pictures of Bendy and all the other characters, the pages a dusty yellow from both time and the lighting.

Then it started getting darker.

With each page, the demonic cartoons became more and more deformed. Teeth became pointed, bodies became mangled and gnarled, and the creatures’ overall anatomy became grotesque and distorted.

Eventually, it got to a point where Bendy didn’t even look like a cartoon anymore; more like a paper-jam that got shoved into a fire-pit and was salvaged at the last minute.

Finally, the monstrous drawings began to slowly dwindle, beginning to become like the human drawings that were on the walls.

There were more detailed notes, but the writing was so tiny and messy that Sammy could barely make out a few strings of words or sentences.

_Have to find one…_

_The perfect…_

_It’s the only way I can…_

_I miss Lin-_

CRACK!

The strike was so sudden Sammy didn’t even have time to register it.

He heard the loud, sickening crack, but for once he didn’t even think about it; he simply collapsed onto the floor, his mind unable to comprehend what had just transpired.

“Finally…” A strange, whispery yet familiar voice mumbled in relief.

He heard things; the dropping of a tool, the shuffling of feet, and the feeling of something pulling at his legs...where was he? Was he lying down or standing? Did...did he still work at the studio? No...he quit, that's right...It hurts to think...

It was then Sammy’s mind, for once, decided that staying awake wasn’t the best option and shut off, bringing him into a dreamless sleep.

But that dreamless sleep was more terrifying than any nightmare could ever hope to be.


	10. Chapter 10

_Drip. Drip._

“Ngh…”

_Drip. Drip._

Slowly, Sammy began to stir awake, his mind still heavy with thick fog.

_Drip. Drip._

The thinner the fog got, the more the feeling of soreness became apparent. His eyes squinted shut at the horrid, stinging headache he had as he let out a curse. “Ow…shit…”

_Drip. Drip._

Sammy couldn’t recall what had transpired; he must’ve gotten a lot drunker at the bar than he thought he had.

_Drip. Drip._

Sighing, he went to massage his forehead in an attempt to calm the onslaught of vicious pain he was experiencing…but then stopped.

He couldn’t move his arms.

_Drip. Drip._

Actually, now that Sammy thought about it, he couldn’t really move much of anything at all.

_Drip. Drip._

And what the hell was that weird dripping sound?

_Drip. Drip._

Slowly, Sammy opened his eyes, squinting and cringing at the sudden brightness and blurry images. Once his vision cleared, he examined his surroundings.

…This wasn’t the bar.

Everything around him was nothing but aged wood; planks stuck out like sore thumbs and a strange clanking and humming sound was heard from the distance…like the ink machine…

Suddenly, the memories of Sammy’s previous encounter came flooding back to him, and his pupils shrunk significantly and his heart-rate quickened to unhealthy levels. Once again, he went to move but realized that something was holding him back from doing so. Looking down, he noticed something along the lines of metal was tightly around his wrists, fastened to what appeared to be a large plank; the whole thing was almost like an upright operating table, really.

…Why the fuck was he on an operating table?

He tried to move his neck to the left and right, contorting it to the point where a large majority of people would certainly consider it unnatural. There appeared to be large words smeared on the wall, but he couldn’t quite read them…

“That’s enough now, visitor. You’ll break your neck otherwise.”

Sammy drew his gaze away from the wall to what was directly in front of him.

A black silhouette stood in the middle of the hallway before the entrance, staring at Sammy. Despite his almost calm, relaxed voice, his posture was anything but. He seemed slouched, his shoulders moving up and down rhythmically as he breathed. Slowly, he began to shuffle into the room, somehow never getting rid of that silhouette appearance despite how close he got.

It was then that Sammy realized that the blackness that covered the man wasn’t a result of the lack of light in the hallways; the man was covered in ink.

The man’s entire body had been doused in a thick layer of the pitch-black liquid. The color of overalls he wore were an almost parallel compared to the rest of his body, even though they only shared a color similar to sandpaper. Though the pants covered his feet, Sammy could still see ink seeping through the fabric. His eyes were barely visible, the pupils being small and completely white, and his mouth looked non-existent.

He was at a loss for words. What were you suppose to say in-response to something like _that_ , anyways?

The thing let out a soft, whisper of breath that seemed like a weak chuckle. “No need to be afraid.” He assured. “I must thank you from the bottom of my heart. You’ve helped me so much.” That voice…it sounded so familiar yet at the same time it wasn’t, like it had sounded a certain way at one point but now it had lost it’s original voice.

“I’ve been waiting for someone to arrive for I don’t know how long.” He drawled on. “It’s odd, really…it feels like I’ve met you before. At another time or place, perhaps?”

Sammy tried to think, despite the hit he had received still leaving his mind unfocused.

“Oh, forget about it. My senses are probably lying to me.”

_Lying…_

It clicked.

“…Henry?” Sammy asked, giving the man an expression of disbelief.

He titled his head to the side, giving him a confused expression. “Hen…Henry? That…that…that isn’t...” He turned his head away for a moment, his eyes scrunching up in concentration as he tried to remember. “Henry…that’s my name, right? Yes…yes it is…” He looked up towards Sammy once more, giving him an expression of bemusement. “How do you know my name?”

“I…you…” Sammy trailed off, giving him an incredulous expression. “Henry…it’s me…Sammy Lawrence.”

The strange body of ink that claimed to be Henry’s eyes widened, and a small thin line which appeared to be his mouth curved upwards at the ends. “Sammy?” He clasped his hands together. “Oh, it’s so wonderful to see you! It’s been such a long time. I don’t know why I didn’t recognize you sooner.”

“Henry…what the fuck is going on right now!?” Sammy exclaimed, his shocked state finally starting to wear off as his high-strung personality kicked in. “What the fuck happened to you? Why am I on an operating table-”

“Oh, please calm down.” Henry interrupted. “I can’t have you getting a heart attack.”

Sammy breathed heavily, surprised by Henry’s almost calm nature and attitude. He took a gulp of air, trying to steady is heart rate. “Henry…” He repeated once more after calming himself down. “What is going on? Why are you…”

Henry chuckled darkly, his jovial mood from seeing an old friend sudden switching. “I know…it’s quite a site. An animator becoming one of the animated…it’s just like a trickster becoming one of the tricked or a hunter becoming one of the hunted.”

Sammy had no idea what any of that meant.

“I mean, I know the liar was ending the show…” He continued, his giddiness almost immediately starting to come back to him. “But he could have specified _who_ he was ending along with it, y’know?”

Sammy could only stare as Henry guffawed at the joke, as if it was the funniest thing he had ever heard in his entire life. Gulping, he decided to continue to question. “Henry, where the hell is Joe-”

Before Sammy could even finish his name, Henry grabbed his sweater by the neck collar and yanked him forward so quickly it nearly caused whiplash. He glared at Sammy, his eyes sunken and similar to one of a rotting fish.

“Never say that bastard’s name.” Henry growled viciously, the grip on the collar tightening with each word he spoke. “A liar does not deserve to be addressed by their name for their name was probably lied about, too. Understand?”

Sammy could barely breathe by the time he finally managed to nod, to which Henry let go and stepped back in response.

“Good.” Henry stated. Moments later, he gave him an apologetic look. “…oh, sorry about your sweater…the white collar’s all ruined now…”

“It’s nothing.” Sammy spat out in anger as he let out exasperated breaths. “I’ve had worse experiences with ink.”

“Oh, I know.” Henry chuckled. “So have I.”

Sammy’s gaze shifted away from the poor man for a moment, before he looked back at him. “Henry…just tell me what’s going on. Please.”

Henry stopped smiling. He looked down on the ground, a depressing look appearing on his face as he closed his eyes and let out a shaky sigh.

“I don’t know.” He confessed.

Sammy didn’t say anything as Henry began shaking.

“I…I don’t know…” He repeated. “I can’t remember…I can’t remember much of anything. I can only remember my times in the studio…I can’t remember my parents, my s-siblings, the names of my k-kids…” He looked up at Sammy. “I’m scared, Sammy.”

“Look, I’ll help you. Just let me out of…whatever the fuck this is…and we’ll get out of here-”

“I can’t leave!” Henry blurted out.

Henry began shaking even more violently as he began to convulse, letting out maddening chuckles. “I can’t leave. I can never leave…it won’t let me leave. It never has and it never will while I’m in this state…” He rambled, his voice becoming increasingly hysterical. “He…he won’t let me leave. He wants me to keep it running. He demands it. If I don’t keep it running he’ll kill me. The demon that I despise yet must obey watches all and hears every creak and thump-”

“Calm. Down.” Sammy interrupted, devolving the ramble into nothing more than heavy breathing. “What are you even talking about? What do you mean by running-”

“The ink machine, Sammy!” Henry exclaimed. “You’re not an idiot. Surely you must hear it’s cathartic groans and hums and churning sounds echoing throughout the facility.”

“Cathartic!? This would give someone cardiac arrest!” Sammy snapped. “Who’s making you run it-”

“It doesn’t MATTER now, Sammy.” Henry claimed. “He’s upset with me now, I know it. I need to leave.”

“You just said you couldn’t-”

“Ah, only in this state, though!” Henry corrected. “All I need is someone who’s remained untouched by this dreadful, hellish substance.” He gestured to himself. “Someone that can…switch places with me, in a way.”

It was then that Henry looked up at him. Whatever sanity he previously had seemed to have vanquished as he clasped his hands together, smiling.

“ _That’s where you come in._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spooky.


	11. Chapter 11

Sammy could only stare, at a loss for words and unable to think of a response to the statement Henry had just made.

Finally, after a few seconds, Sammy finally managed to let out a response, quiet from shock.

“…what?”

Henry gave a soft chuckle. “Ah, Sammy…I wouldn’t have knocked you out and trapped you here otherwise, would I?” He asked rhetorically, emitting another soft chuckle.

Sammy didn’t say anything as Henry continued on speaking, beginning to pace back and forth as he spoke.

“Abominations like me can’t leave this place.” Henry explained. “Every time we try to, we feel a pull that drags us away, like a magnet. The ink that stains our skin cannot leave so as a result, we can’t either.” He paused, looking down at the floor for a moment before turning his attention back to Sammy. “But you…you’re different. You are untouched by this…torturous liquid. You can leave…you can ESCAPE.”

“Henry…” Sammy began. “I don’t know what the HELL you think you’re trying to pull, but-”

“Pull?” Henry interrupted. “I’m not pulling anything! …well, maybe one thing, actually.”

“Uh huh, and what’s that, exactly?” Sammy inquired, his tone more bitter than a glass of wine.

“Well, allow me to elucidate.” Henry began. “As I’ve mentioned before, I need someone to switch places with me. To do that, I just have to reach into your subconscious and-” He lurched forward, bringing his fist just in front of Sammy’s face and clenching it tightly, causing Sammy to jerk his head back “-PULL those little thoughts and feelings out of you, as well as that insignificant soul of yours. Then, all I have to do is take control of the empty husk. I know it might seem painful but it’s really not that bad; you’ll feel a slight headache, then you’ll feel like you’re being carried by gusts of wind, and finally, you’ll end up in my spot! What do you think?”

“I think you’ve lost your fucking mind.” Sammy spat. “What the fuck are you on about? ‘Pulling out my soul?’ Please, as if I have one!”

Henry waved a finger dismissively. “Ah, but you do.” Henry claimed. “Even I do, despite how corrupted I’ve become. Besides, if the liar can cause this I think anything’s on the table.”

“Henry, this isn’t you-”

“I KNOW it isn’t, Sammy!” Henry exclaimed, his white pupils beginning to becoming bloodshot as he did. “But I’ve run out of options! That monster’s going to kill me! Even if I keep that dreaded machine running-”

Henry stopped talking suddenly. There was a quick pause before he completely freaked out.

“The ink machine! I’ve neglected it for too long! It needs my attention, it needs my attention…I can already here it’s churning sounds lessening!” Henry rambled, clutching his head as he let out heavy breaths. “The demon will kill me! Splatter the walls black! I have to go!”

“Henry, wait-” Before Sammy could finish what he was going to say, Henry took off, scrambling to the ugly piece of machinery not too far away from there.

Sammy let out a string of curses, trying to yank and shake his arms out of the rusty metal bands around them but to no avail. Despite the material being old, they seemed to be remarkably durable. The metal around his wrists was just tight enough so that he couldn’t just pull his arms out of them. If they were only just a tiny bit bigger…

Sammy let out a frustrated breath as he heard the sounds of the machine getting louder once more, signalling Henry’s completion of his task.

“Damn it…THINK.” Sammy muttered. He looked around, trying to find something that would work.

Before he could come up with a plan to trick Henry, however, he became distracted by the feeling of something drop onto his head. He looked up to see large globs of ink, leaking through the ceiling at a rapid pace. More and more started to drip from the ceiling and fell onto Sammy, much to his annoyance. The large amounts of ink started to drip onto his arms, leaving them covered in the disgusting, slick substance…

Sammy put a pause on his annoyed thoughts, an idea suddenly coming into play.

The ink was slick, and with the amount of ink pouring onto the bands…

Sammy’s train of thought was interrupted when Henry returned, letting out a happy laugh.

“The machine is fixed and working once more, thank goodness.” Henry confirmed. “I was so worried the demon would tear me to liquidized shreds and use my ink for artwork!”

“Ha ha, yeah…” Sammy nodded, trying his damn hardest to play along. “Well, I’m covered in ink now. I don’t think I’ll work for your whole…cult thing.”

“It’s NOT a cult thing,” Henry snapped, before giving him a kind look and waving his hand dismissively. “And nonsense! We’re mostly made of this stuff. That’s only a tiny bit of ink that’s covering you, so it wouldn’t hold the body back entirely. The ink would most likely peel off the shell as it leaves, like dead skin.”

Sammy cringed at the comparison as Henry continued on speaking.

“If any somehow stayed on, all the husk would need is a shower.” Henry finally concluded, before sighing wistfully. “I’ve forgotten what water feels like. All I remember is that it didn’t sting or burn.”

“Well…” Sammy gulped nervously. He wasn’t a man of god but he prayed that Henry wouldn’t catch on to his plan. “You’ll get to find out. I’ll…let you switch places.”

Henry gave him a surprised look. “Really? Completely willingly?”

“Yeah, you’ve uh…missed out on a lot.” Sammy explained, trying to find the right words. “You can…visit your wife…uh…” He paused, trying to remember her name. “…Linda. You can tell her about where you’ve been.”

Henry titled his head slightly to the side, giving him a confused look. “Who’s Linda?”

“Uh…she’s-”

“Well, no matter!” Henry interrupted. “I have to thank you for this, Sammy!”

He got closer to Sammy, continuing to talk as he looked for something in the room. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it here,” He rambled. “The music department would be absolutely delighted to have you back as the writer.”

He pulled a book out from behind the large plank of wood, flipping through it. “Granted, some are obviously not the…happiest to be stuck in such a hellish situation, but I wouldn’t worry too much about them. I don’t think they’ll bite. They’ll probably just severely maim with you claws.”

“Yeah…I can handle it.” Sammy assured, waiting for Henry to get close enough.

Henry finally took one more step, opening the book and flipping through it “Anything you’d like to say before we switch? I think it would be rude otherwise.”

“I hope what I’m about to do works.” Was all Sammy said before he yanked his hand out of the metal band.

The heavy amount of ink reduced the metal’s friction and left it slippery, allowing him to yank his arm out with ease. Before Henry could even react, Sammy slugged him in the face, wincing as he felt his fist sink into the ink.

Henry stumbled back, letting out a yelp of surprise before he collapsed onto the ground, clutching his face and letting out an amalgamation of words and strange sentences.

Yanking his other hand out of the band, he slipped out and got to the floor. He almost let out a sigh of relief, before his shoulders were roughly grabbed by Henry.

Henry looked at him with crazed eyes, the left side of his face almost caved-in and his entire body shaking. “You LIED to me!” He accused. “You’re no better than HIM!”

“I’m not letting you stick me in this hellish place, Henry!” Sammy spat. “I don’t know what’s been going on here, but I’m not going to let you rip my fucking SOUL out so you can get yourself killed in a world you have no experience with! It’s been over thirty years, Henry. Things are different!”

“You don’t understand, Sammy! I NEED this!” Henry all but begged. “I can’t handle this pain any longer. Everything burns, and I can’t put out the flames to stop it because there aren’t even any flames to put out!”

Henry reached forward, trying to grab Sammy by the neck. “I need that empty shell, Sammy! I need to escape! I NEED TO GET AWAY FROM THE DEMON!”

Sammy shoved him away with as much force as he could possibly muster, the crazed monster falling back and crashing onto the ground.

Sammy panted heavily, stepping back as Henry struggled to get up. He took several steps back, getting closer and closer to the hallway.

“…I’m sorry.” Sammy apologized. “I’ll come back for you.”

With that, Sammy took off and started running, trying to ignore the screams coming from Henry as he begged him to come back.

He knew where he was, of course, but the change of the environment left him disoriented.

Ink was flowing from the walls and dripping from the ceiling in streams, the floor black with the substance.

Trying to find the exit, he almost jumped in surprise when he almost knocked into a bunch of plywood boarded to an entrance to the ink machine. For a moment, he paused in confusion. That wasn’t there before, and he didn't recall hearing Henry nailing anything-

A large, vicious claw emerged from a hole in the plywood, nearly slicing Sammy in half.

This time, Sammy did jump back; several feet back, actually.

A large, horned, grinning head poked it’s head out, it’s eyes covered by heavy drips of ink. It was similar to the drawings Sammy had found when he was rummaging through Henry’s papers at his old work-desk. It’s body was mangled and deformed, misshapen and skewered. It looked at Sammy for a few moments, it’s stare holding this unspoken rage, before it pulled back and sunk through the floor, leaving a large puddle of ink-though it didn’t matter, considering how everything else was covered in the stuff.

Sammy now knew what Henry meant by a demon, and he was NOT about to face his wrath.

Despite the pain in his chest from how fast his heart was, he still ran as fast as he could, adrenaline practically dragging him to the exit.

Despite the ink that covered the floors and halls, he could see the exit door.

It was his only way out.

He ran as fast as he could towards it, reaching for the doorknob-

Something gave way underneath him, and suddenly he couldn’t feel the floor underneath his feet anymore.

Before Sammy could even react, he founding himself falling, barely having anytime to even let out a shout before he collided with the ground. He let out a groan of pain as he scrunched his eyes shut, clutching his shoulder and wincing at how sore it was.

Just before he fell unconscious from the sheer exhaustion he felt, one single thought appeared in his mind.

 _I’m too old for this shit._  


	12. Chapter 12

Whenever the exciting and bubbling weekend ended and Monday came around, Allie always had an immense amount of difficulty getting her two children out of their beds. The two would, more often than not, whine and grumble as they simply buried their heads deeper into their pillows and wrapped themselves in their thick comforters.

Sammy, being the workaholic that he was, never really had those moments. The man would be dressed and ready not even ten minutes after his alarm went off, simply having a couple cups of coffee to perk him up before he sat down and tried to figure out which chords worked best.

Now…Sammy could understand their pain.

The moment he groggily awoke from what was his second bout of unconsciousness, he found that he was unable to pry himself up off the rotting floor. The exhaustion he felt was still there, thicker than fog and leaving so much weight on his shoulders that an anchor on his back would’ve felt lighter; speaking of shoulders, the one that hurt incredibly badly just before he passed out still hurt, now sore and aching. It seemed to have been dislocated, the incidents prior to the fall most likely playing a part in the dislocation as well.

Around fifteen minutes passed before Sammy let out a sigh, knowing he was going to have to pull himself up eventually, despite the amount of pain he would have to endure.

“…fuck it.” He muttered, finally letting go of his shoulder and wincing as it already began to sting just from such a small movement.

With the injuries, the process of getting up off the floor was highly difficult. His limbs ached and it felt as if they were being twisted all the way around with every motion he made whether it was small or large, his legs weak and his arms, especially the dislocated area, burning with each gruelling movement. It had taken Sammy roughly five minutes to get up on his two feet, and even then, he had to spend an additional minute just trying to keep steady.

The moment he found he was able to stand without swaying, he placed his hand to his face and groaned into it, lightly massaging his forehead in attempt to get rid of the headache he had.

“Thanks, Joey…” Sammy mumbled into his palm. “Always wanted to meet a cartoon monster made by a lying cultist…livin’ the fucking dream, right now.”

He pulled his hand away from his face and glanced at his shoulder, letting out another, tired breath, both from the lack of energy he had and the knowledge that, with the current situation he was in, he’d have to pop it back in himself.

Yet again, another few minutes were spent with Sammy trying to relocate his shoulder, biting his tongue to keep him from shouting. Finally, after he had managed to relocate his shoulder safely and the pain was relieved, Sammy began to focus on his current objective, and that was getting the hell out of this damn studio as soon as possible. He blinked away his blurry vision and looked around the room he was in, feeling sick as he noticed the leaky, ink-filled pipes tucked in the corner, and felt an increase of the nauseous feeling when he saw the words ‘THE CREATOR LIED TO US’ smeared on the wall in the smudged and messy handwriting that had now became Henry’s.

Sammy pried his eyes away from the disturbing messages, and looked towards a door near the end of the room. His expression showed nothing but exasperation and exhaustion as he made slow, sluggish steps towards the door, looking like, at any minute, he’d just collapse onto the floor.

Attempting to twist the handle, he wasn’t surprised when he found the door was locked; even when Sammy worked there, Joey was the kind of guy to make sure every single door had a lock on it. For a man that was famous for cutting corners, he sure put new meaning into the phrase ‘What happens behind closed doors stays behind closed doors.’

However, that didn’t mean Sammy was annoyed by it-quite the contrary, actually. He was _pissed_. He had no way out of the damn room, now. There was a large hole in the wall, but that was covered by planks of wood that were nailed onto the wall and he wasn’t going to risk popping his shoulder out again and getting a handful of splinters trying to rip them off with his bare hands.

“Oh, well that’s just _great_.” He seethed, throwing his hands in the air and ignoring the slight bit of pain the action brought along with it. “Now how the hell am I going to get out of…oh.”

Sammy, who had looked around while ranting, trailed off when he saw what was attached to one of the still-standing walls.

It was an axe-a pick-head one, to be exact. It was one of the very few axes installed in the studio in case any emergencies that required immediate evacuation occurred; Sammy remembered it had taken about a week for Henry to convince Joey to have them set up as opposed to buying a gallon worth of ink instead.

Sammy walked over to the mantel that held the axe and carefully lifted it up, feeling a overwhelming sense of stupidity at the fact that he hadn’t noticed it before.

“Huh…how…convenient.” He commented as he observed the tool. It was quite old, the tip of the axe completely dusted with rust and the feeling of splinters digging into his palms as he held it made Sammy cringe involuntarily.

However, despite it clearly having seen better days, it seemed sturdy enough to be useful.

Besides, it was the only thing he had. It was better than nothing, that was for sure.

Sammy switched his attention to the planks of wood that blocked the hole and lifted the axe up.

“Okay…” Sammy huffed, his exhaustion creeping back up as he prepared to swing it into the planks. “Just chop through these and find my way back up…”

He chopped the old planks in half instantly, but immediately jumped back and cringed in pain as a sudden, burning sensation went through his shoulder.

Multiple swears streamed out of his mouth as he clutched his shoulder, hissing at the aching burn. It wasn’t dislocated again, but if he kept it up it most certainly would be.

Sammy clenched his teeth until the pain began to slowly dwindle, where he let out another swear before he began to breathe deeply. “Okay, new plan, Sammy…don’t swing it like a maniac and make the inside of your shoulder uglier than a butcher shop.” He muttered to himself. Eventually, he used the axe again, although with a plenteous amount of attentiveness to make sure he didn’t severely damage his shoulder, this time. He cut through the planks that blocked his path, the feeling of exhaustion once more trying to pull him back down. It was like quicksand; the more he moved the deeper he sank into that drowsy state.

Just when he thought he was about to pass out as he walked down the ink-stained hallways lit by candles, he finally reached a door that was covered by planks. After they were taken care of, he entered the room without much thought…only to find himself stumbling as the room began to shook.

Before the man even had time to think, various images flashed in his mind: Henry, a wheelchair, that strange demon…

Suddenly, without any warning, Sammy felt his mind completely shut off and he collapsed once again.

It was a shame there was no warning for it, because if there was, Sammy’s first immediate thought would’ve been to wonder why life hated him so much that he had to keep on passing out.

* * *

 

“Mom?”

Allie paused on stirring cookie dough mixture and turned to her daughter. “What is it, April?” She inquired. “If this is about being grounded again-”

April waved her hands and shook her head. “No, no, it’s not. Dad already told me off for complaining about that.” She explained quickly. “I’m just wondering when Uncle Sammy’s coming home. It’s been two days already.”

Allie simply shrugged. “He probably decided to extend his stay for a bit, April.” She suggested. “We grew up there, you know.”

“I know, before Sammy moved and Grandma moved because she got tired of Ohio and you moved cause’ you were still a kid and didn’t really have a say…” April rambled.

Allie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before pulling it away as she realized she had flour on her fingers. “Yes, yes, all of that…my point is being there probably gives him a sense of…”

“Nostalgia n’ stuff?” April finished.

Allie smiled. “Yes, nostalgia…and stuff.”

“Okay, then!” April nodded with a smile, before her face almost immediately drifted to a pout. “I just hope he comes back soon, though. If he isn’t back in the next few days I’m saying that Drew guy kidnapped him for haunting stuff.”

Allie nearly choked on the cookie dough she was trying. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I mean, that Drew guy’s totally weird.” April pointed out. “You should’ve seen Maestro! She was hissing at the letters Drew sent Sammy and everything.”

Allie huffed. “April, Joey Drew is many things but I doubt he kidnapped Sammy for ‘haunting stuff’ or whatever you call it. Those rumours in your school about satanic messages in his shows and what-not are just that: rumors.” Allie assured.

“Okay…but I still don’t trust that Drew guy.” April replied, crossing her arms in defiance.

“April, you haven’t even met him.” Allie said in exasperation. “Now, quit rambling and help me get the cookies ready for the bake sale.”

“Sure thing!” April nodded.

“And don’t eat any of the cookies. You’re still grounded.”

April scowled. “Fiiiine…” 


	13. Chapter 13

Sammy was REALLY getting tired of constantly fainting.

No, I’m being serious. The constant fainting was quite literally causing a severe amount of fatigue and exhaustion and it pretty much left him physically and emotionally drained.

But yeah, he still felt large amounts of annoyance at how many times he had fallen into an unconscious state, especially since he had no idea of how long he had been out for. It could’ve been minutes, could’ve been hours, hell…it could’ve even been days. Overall, these situations only brought stress and exhaustion with them…a rather caustic combination, to say the least.

Having to pull himself up again off the floor wasn’t that fun, either. His shoulder may have been relocated, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel an immense amount of aches and pains when he got back up. While it didn’t take as long as before, he felt quite more irritated than last time.

He especially when he noticed the strange circle painted onto the floor in ink surrounded by candles, odd patterns decorating the inside of it and leaving Sammy puzzled.

It more than likely had something to do with his collapse, but whatever it’s true purpose was, the idea of staying in that room to find out didn’t really sit too well with him.

He looked around on the floor until he located the axe and snatched it up, ignoring the soreness he felt in his palm when he did.

Sammy had to say, he was surprised his injuries weren’t worse. Being fifty-seven and often becoming so wrapped up in his work that he’d forget to eat, Sammy wasn’t exactly the perfect picture of health. Not to mention he had collapsed three times; one from getting hit in the head, two from sheer exhaustion, and three from…well, he wasn’t really sure what caused that collapse. Point was, it was quite a shock to find he hadn’t broken anything.

Either there was a small bit of luck through his bout of unfortunate situations, or his grouchiness gave him unknown strength.

…probably the latter.

After having to cut through even MORE planks (Seriously, what was the point of having the doors boarded up?), Sammy left the room, the axe hanging at his side as he walked.

Sammy was about a couple steps away from the door he had just went, not really paying attention to the floor, when he almost slipped and fell down a set of stairs. He caught himself just in time, swearing loudly.

“Goddamn it…” He seethed, finally observing his surroundings. “Every…damn surface looks the same…”

Sammy paused his agitated rambles when, while looking to see where he was, saw an old sign bolted to the wall just above the entranceway to the next room.

**UTILITY SHAFT 9**

Utility Shaft 9…that sounded familiar…

Sammy thought about it for another second until he finally recalled why he remembered Utility Shaft 9.

That was the Utility Shaft closest to the music department.

For the briefest of moments, while he himself would never admit it, Sammy felt the slightest bit of…nostalgia. The studio had became so damn warped that the memories of when things were at the very least kind of normal in the studio were better than whatever the hell it was now.

But, in a flurry, that feeling was gone. Not only because the bad moments Sammy had in his dim-lit office and in the studio in general outweighed the okay moments he had, but because of what he remembered Henry mentioning before about the people in the music department.

_“Granted, some are obviously not the…happiest to be stuck in such a hellish situation, but I wouldn’t worry too much about them. I don’t think they’ll bite. They’ll probably just severely maim with you claws.”_

“...oh joy…” Sammy said sarcastically, his voice strained with exhaustion and the realization that he was screwed.

It wasn’t like he could turn back, either. If he was going to survive, he was going to have to keep on moving forward whether he liked it or not.

Walking down the stairs and through the entrance way, Sammy saw that, on the wall directly in front of him, were deep, scratchy lines. Deep, deep scratch marks had been embedded into the wall in thick messy lines, as if someone had tried to create a pattern with a broken arm. In the center of the wall, covering some of the lines, someone had sloppily written something onto the rotting wall in ink, Sammy unable to recognize the handwriting.

**KEEP THE MUSIC GOING.**

While generally this would’ve been the kind of advice Sammy would’ve agreed with, being inside Hell’s Studio where nightmares come true made this little bit of advice a whole lot more unnerving.

It also got worse when he looked around.

The entire room he was in, which was also a lot bigger than when he was in the studio, had the same lines cut into the surrounding walls, the same advice painted onto them in harsh, rough strokes.

While looking around at this unbelievably unsettling sight, Sammy discovered that, tucked in one of the darkest corners, collecting cobwebs and dust and barely noticeable, was a large, bulky cassette tape.

While he was confused by this, he couldn’t help but feel glad that this was here.

Maybe he could actually get some answers for once.

Walking over to the corner, he placed his axe on the ground before kneeling down himself, press the play button.

There was a soft yet defined click as the cassette started up, static caused by it’s age becoming more apparent the further the tape continued.

There was nothing but the loud static for a few moments.

Then…a tune began to play.

Well…not really a tune but more of an amalgamation of various noises with a faint melody in the background of it all. It sounded like jazz, but it was mixed in with ugly, nauseating clanking and dripping noises. He was sure the piece alone may have been marvelous, but the noises mixed in left it, in his eyes, butchered.

The song came to a sudden stop before Sammy could even stop it himself, the tape shutting off on it’s own. Sammy got up from the ground, dusting himself off before grabbing the axe. He was about to continue on when he heard something that made him stop.

A jazz tune, not too far away, playing for a brief moment before being promptly cut off.


	14. Chapter 14

The phone rang loudly, it’s familiar, blaring sound startling both Allie and Maestro, saddening April as it caused Maestro to jump off her lap, and causing Allie to almost drop the book she was enjoying. After hastily laying the book on the coffee table, she scurried towards the phone before her daughter would have a chance to grab it on her.

She picked up the phone and quickly placed to her ear to it as she spoke into the receiver. “Hello?”

There was a pause for a few moments, and then Allie greeted the person on the other end with both happiness and relief. “Sammy!”

April instantly looked away from the cat to her mother and hopped up from her spot on the couch. “Sammy?” She asked, to which her mother shushed her.

“Thank goodness…April was worried you were kidnapped…” She trailed off for a moment. “A while longer…? For how long? That doesn’t sound like you…”

There was another pause.

“…alright. As long as your bosses are alright with you extending your visit…just don’t stay longer than a week.”

Allie put the phone down before April even had the chance to ask if she could speak to Sammy, the phone making clicking/chiming noise, signifying that it was hung up. She turned to April, sighing loudly.

“Sammy’s staying in Ohio for a bit longer.” Allie informed.

April pouted, her mouth curved to a frown. “Aw…why?” She whined.

“Well…he missed some work and he wants to get that done…he also still hasn’t found Mr. Drew yet …the studio was anything but lively, according to him.” Allie rubbed her eyes and let out a huff. “I don’t know the full story, but he’ll be back by the beginning of next week, hopefully.”

April nodded. “Alright. We’ll throw him a big welcome party, and he can get drunk and spend all night complaining about Drew.”

Allie chortled softly. “He does that even when he’s sober, my dear.” She joked.

April let out a bubbly giggle, happy that Sammy was okay. “Well, it seems that Sammy’s doing fine!” She chirped as she turned to the cat, beaming with happiness and relief. “How does that make you feel Maestro-”

The sight made April’s prattling end almost instantaneously, her voice becoming hushed.

A startled and confused expression formed on her face, and then her eyebrows furrowed together as she noticed what her mother hadn’t noticed.

The cat was growling.

* * *

 

Sammy had no idea what to make of the strange, peculiar and yet familiar tune he had just heard from not too far away. Hearing the same tune that had just played on an old, dusty, suspicious cassette tape was both perplexing and left him feeling unnerved and apprehensive.

Despite all that, however, Sammy still continued on, even with the knowledge that whatever was ahead was something bad; besides, he technically already had that knowledge beforehand. Now said knowledge just amplified.

The deep cuts in the walls weren’t just in the room Sammy was in, either. He noticed that they had also gone into the hallway just outside of it as well, and they certainly didn’t show any signs of lessening. He placed his hand on the walls as he walked, feeling every bit of damage and wondering who or what decided to slash and cut up the already weak surface.

Sammy cringed as he felt ink drops fall onto his head from some of the leaking pipes, which had oddly not fallen victim to whatever had decided play toss-the-chainsaw with the walls. Well, at least it was only a tiny bit of ink. At least there wasn’t much as before-

He felt his foot sink into something with a loud, sloshing noise.

Sammy turned his attention away from the walls and looked down, realizing his foot had sunk into a large puddle of ink, feeling it grow heavy as the ink began to seep into the inside of his shoe and stain his sock.

Then he looked up, and saw that the part of the narrow path, the only path that he could take, had been filled with so much of the putrid black liquid that he would be up to his ankles in it.

Sammy’s expression may have seemed almost deadpan, but the rage he felt was true and burning like a thousand fiery suns.

“…I hate you so much, Joey.” Was all he said before he forced himself to take another step, cringing as his other foot went into the poisonous liquid.

He swore he felt whatever pride he had left die the moment he began wading through the ink, wasting away in the large puddles and becoming nothing more than festering rot. Every step felt like he was yanking his foot out of fresh mud, the ink leaving his shoes heavy, like they were waterlogged…just with ink instead.

He was about halfway through the sickening substance when the music started up once more, causing Sammy to stop walking. He went rigid, not about to risk being noticed knowing that whatever was playing the music could actually be a threat.

This time, however, he could hear something amidst the churning and squelching sounds.

A lyric.

“ **Listen to my plea.** ”

Immediately after that, the music abruptly cut off. Silence then filled the room, safe for Sammy’s heavy breathing as he thought about what it meant. Despite the ink he was standing in giving him anything but comfort, he ended up standing there for a moment longer than he planned on, waiting to see if something would go appear.

When nothing came, Sammy quickly waded his way out of the rest of the ink, finally getting out of it and onto a dry surface.

He let out a tired sigh, carefully sitting down onto the floor and yanking his ink covered shoes off to try and get the ink that was in the inside of them out. His face scrunched up in revulsion when it poured out of his shoes in slow, oozing streams.

“Ugh…disgusting.” He grimaced. After the shoes were finally empty of ink, he examined the outsides before snorting. “Heh, least I won’t have to polish them anymore.”

_…Because I’m burning them as soon as I get out of this hellhole._

Sammy put his shoes on and stood back up, about to walk over to the exit of the Utility Shaft when he noticed one of Bendy’s signature cardboard cut-outs on the wall, it’s jeering grin alone enough to make Sammy feel like he was being taunted by it.

Sammy stared at it for a second, than brought his gaze to the axe in his hand before bringing his attention back to the cut-out.

With out any words and with a neutral expression on his face, Sammy made one swing with the axe and the cheap cardboard broke, multiple pieces falling onto the floor.

For once in the entire time he was here, he smiled and let out a relaxed sigh.

“Ah…that was cathartic.”


	15. Chapter 15

“…Seriously?”

He stared at the metal box that was right beside the gate, which had three dull lights blinking next to a small lever. The gate was the only thing that was inhibiting Sammy from getting into the music department, and it needed power in order for it to open.

“You know, Joey…” Sammy began. “If you actually spent as much money on animations as you did on keeping doors shut, the studio probably wouldn’t have devolved into this…just saying!”

Of course, there was no response to this statement, unless his voice echoing off the dilapidated walls counted, but Sammy didn’t care that there was no reply. Hell, after the amount of disturbing events he went through, he preferred that no one responded.

He let out a tired yawn, rubbing his eyes as he did. “Okay…” He said after he pulled his hand away. “Just find three switches, get some power, and open the gate…they should be in here somewhere…”

Sammy turned around and once more, ended up stopping in his tracks.

At the other end of the room, the Bendy cut-out leaned against the wall, looking perfectly fine.

The one Sammy had just chopped into pieces with an axe.

Sammy stared at the Bendy cut-out, his puzzled countenance growing greater the longer he stared at it.

Didn’t he just…?

With slow steps, Sammy walked up to the suspicious sight, staring at it with a careful, almost scrutinizing gaze.

Then, just like before, he took a quick look at his axe before chopping and breaking the cut-out into many pieces.

He stepped back, taking a long look at the bits that had scattered onto the floor for good measure before turning around for a moment.

Then he turned around again.

The cut-out was once more in one piece, leaning against the wall and looking as good as new. It leered at Sammy with it’s wide, malicious smile.

“…Shit.” He muttered, the only response coming to his mind. After all, there wasn’t really much anyone could say after witnessing a cut-out reassemble itself in a matter of seconds.

Sammy took a step back from it, almost expecting it to come to life and chase him down the hall.

“Well I’m just ignoring those from now on…” Sammy stated, finally pulling his eyes away from the cut-out. “They’re just…distractions, yes. Distractions I can walk away from…”

He began to tread through the halls, observing the walls and floors for any levers or buttons, ignoring his heart’s quickened beating.

* * *

 

It had been over an hour.

Over a goddamn hour.

Over an hour of trotting back and forth through a pool of ink and inspecting walls and floors until his back ached and all he could do was drag his feet across the floor.

All of this…just to find the last switch.

Sammy absolutely despised this studio and its structure. There was no need to have these switches strewn about as opposed to having them all in one place. It was about as pointless as an animator trying to make the next big motion-picture with nothing but a broken pencil.

He practically punched the switch when he had finally discovered it. It had been tucked away in a corner, hidden by what had appeared to be a sliced-up can that had fallen victim to the Wall-Slasher.

He ended up almost gagging and covering his mouth when he realized the contents that were in the can had gone bad from being exposed to the air due to the damage the can had received. It was bad enough that it was Bacon Soup that was in the can, a food that was so bad that it left a bitter taste in his mouth to this very day, but now it was spoiled as well, leaving a horrible smell in the air.

The worst part was, despite the spoiling, seeing it actually made him realize how long it had been since he had actually had anything to eat. He was use to going awhile without eating, especially during deadline weeks, but with the times he was unconscious, this was probably the longest he had ever spent without even taking a single bite of food. The times he had spent running around and trying to survive certainly didn’t lessen the feeling of hunger, either.

Of course, he wasn’t going to try and eat the growth on the ground that looked like it would start moving at any moment-god, he wasn’t THAT desperate-but it did make him recognize that finding something edible was a necessity yet was also going to be a challenge at the same time.

After pulling the lever next to the gate, there was a couple of seconds of silence before the gate began to open, shaking as the churning sounds of cogs and machinery screeched, growing louder the higher the gate went.

Eventually, both the noises and the gate stopped, revealing the entrance. Sammy hesitated for a moment, unsure of why he was doing so, before he began to walk through the gate and into the Music Department.

The place was a mess.

Well, the studio in general was a gigantic mess at that point, but considering how this was the place Sammy worked in for three years, seeing the destruction of the area was certainly a lot more surprising for him.

The Music Department Hall, the main area that connected all of the rooms for the department together, was stained with ink splatter and had all of it’s walls sliced and cut up. The logo for the music department, painted on one of the walls, was heavily slashed and scratched-up, more so than any of the other walls in the entire room, and was hardly recognizable. If Sammy hadn’t worked there before, he wouldn’t have even guessed for a second that it use to be a logo.

He traipsed around the hall, the floors weak and protruding creaks and squeaks each time his ink-covered shoes clacked against the floor. The hall itself, while still familiar to him, seemed to have gotten extensions, as it was quite bigger than before. The ways to the other rooms seemed to be the same, however, which made things easier-

**CRUNCH.**

Sammy jumped back at the loud noise, lifting his axe up at almost lightning speed as his breathing and heartbeat quickened. His eyes darted left and right, looking for the source of the noise.

Finally, he looked down, found what had caused it, and felt like a complete and utter moron.

He had stepped on an old cassette tape.

He let out a frustrated grumble at how he had been all worked up over nothing and face-palmed. “Idiot…”

Sammy drew his attention back to the cassette tape on the floor. It had been broken, caved in and looking hardly functional.

Nevertheless, despite this, Sammy knelt down and observed it, before pressing play.

After all, if a cut-out can repair itself in a matter of seconds, who’s to say a broken cassette tape won’t function?

Sure enough, the cassette started up, a slight bit of static in the audio yet still clear nonetheless.

 

**Voice of CLEF JAMESON**

**Joey Drew certainly had the right idea when he chose me to replace that Lawrence kid. I mean, he’s a man of ideas in general so I can’t say I’m not surprised.**

**Joey’s a dear friend, so it’s quite a honor that he entrusted me to help him with his little projects. Even told me he ‘believed in me.’ Almost got a little teary-eyed, not gonna lie.**

**So far, everyone seems like good folks. They really pull off those facades quite well. You probably wouldn't of even guessed what their true colors were. Excellent choices for the projects, Drew.**

**Ah, there is one, though…I find that janitor to be quite annoying. Always there when you least want him to be.**

**Someone should reeeally do something about that annoyance.**

**END OF AUDIO.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry I took a bit long for this one, I was a bit busy. But, this chapter's a bit longer than usual, so that's a thing! Hope you enjoy!

As the cassette’s whirring halted and the static sounds came to a sudden stop, Sammy found that he was left with a cluttered mess of a mind that had too many questions in it.

He already knew about the replacement being one of Joey’s friends thanks to the letters he had been given before everything went to hell, but hearing the guy himself talk, overall, raised so many inquiries.

What did this ‘Clef’ person mean by projects, why was his coworkers ‘excellent choices’ for said projects, and what the hell did he even mean by ‘true colors?’

Sammy was already starting to dislike the guy, just from the audiotape alone. The implications that he helped Joey morph this studio into a torturous, inky abomination with no escape did not sit well with him in the slightest.

It also didn’t help that he was apparently a ‘dear friend’, either. Aside from Henry, anyone who claimed to be a friend of Joey was certainly not deserving of trust. Hell, after dealing with Joey’s peculiar habits, deadline changes, and two-faced tendencies, it took him a fair bit of time to realize that Henry was a normal, hardworking guy that, unlike Joey, actually had common sense.

As for the last few words in regards to Franks…call him heartless, but Sammy wasn’t going to deny it; Franks WAS an annoyance, and that was something it seemed Clef and him would’ve agreed on. The janitor was there when you didn’t want him to be and gone when you did need him.

But that didn’t mean Sammy didn’t feel any sort of concern towards the janitor. Despite his dislike of him, the thought of that carefree klutz being trapped down here like Henry had been left him with a nauseating feeling he just couldn’t shake off.

Not to mention the others…

Sammy tried to push back the sickening feeling he felt. He was in a life or death situation and had already suffered a dislocated shoulder, possible ink poisoning, and god knows what else. Getting sick right now was the LAST thing he needed.

He turned away from the cassette, observing the entrances to all of the different rooms. He rested his hand against his chin in thought, mumbling to himself as he examined which entrances were which.

“Let’s see…Utility Shaft 9 is there, so that means the recording studio and the projection booth would be there…” He mumbled, eyes glancing over to the direction that they should be in. “So…the stairwell must be…”

He walked over towards an entrance way that was right besides the Utility Shaft and snapped his fingers.

“Here.” He finished, standing just before the entrance. All he had to do was just go down the stairs and out through the door, allowing him at least a little bit more of a chance of getting out sooner rather than later (Or at all). He certainly was glad to make his visit at the warped department short-

“Oh, fuck off.” He spat angrily.

The ink had flooded a large amount of the stairwell, beginning at the fourth step and leaving the door completely blocked by the lake of black liquid.

If he wanted to get through there…he was going to have to find a way to drain the ink.

“Did I ever say I hate you, Joey? Because I really hate you.” Sammy grumbled as his nails dug into his palms from clenching his fists and his mouth curved to that of a snarl. He let out an exasperated breath, looking over to his right where a large switch labelled POWER had been bolted onto the wall.

Grasping the lever he, after pausing for a moment, pulled the rusty switch and looked around as a few clicks were heard and soft whirring sounds began humming throughout the department. Sammy watched as some lights, which hadn’t been on before, came to life and emitted soft, yellow glows, their lights reflecting off the thick, inky black sludge on the floors.

Now that he could see the ink more clearly, Sammy cringed at the thick masses of ink piled on the floor. It didn’t even look like ink; PUDDING didn’t have as much consistency as those globs.

Sammy walked over to them, grimacing as the caustic smells grew stronger the closer he got.

“Good lord, that is awful…” Sammy stated as he gave the ink a scrutinizing gaze. “Is that even actually ink-”

Springing forth like water jets from a fountain, a creature came to life from the mass, it’s hand reaching forward before the rest of it’s oozing mass emerged from the glob. Sammy jumped back with a loud yelp, just missing the sharp, pointed hand that had just barely scratched his tie.

The creature…it was unlike anything Sammy had ever seen and difficult to describe. It looked like a misshapen mess that had desperately tried to shape itself into an almost human form, yet at the same time, it didn’t look anything like a human. It had no bottom half, it’s body stopping where the torso would be. However, despite lacking this, it was still able to move, leaving large trails of ink behind as it dragged itself across the ground with it’s lanky arms, as if it was crawling on all fours, it’s back arched as if it had a spine.

With it’s mouth agape, and with ink pouring out of it and dribbling down what seemed to be it’s chin, it let out a hollow, choked wheeze, the noise even more garbled from the black liquid filling it’s broken jaw.

Then, it swiped at Sammy again, attempting to mangle and claw whatever it could, still letting out choked wheezes as it dragged it’s body surprisingly quickly.

Sammy jumped back once more, this time attempting to hit the creature with his axe now that the initial shock had finally lessened somewhat. The axe struck the side of the creature’s head with a sickening thud, causing it’s head to whip to the side as it let out incoherent garbles.

Sammy took a few paces back, holding his axe tightly as stared at the creature in horror, completely staggered by what he was seeing. “Jesus Christ…” He breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. “What the hell is-”

Whatever he was about to say fell short when he felt a sharp, stinging pain in his left arm.

He let out a sharp hiss, grabbing his left arm and turning around to see that more of these monsters had appeared, their bodies hunched and broken jaws agape. In a quick, panicked movement, Sammy shoved the one that had struck him away, bashing it in the side with the axe. He began to move back as the creatures advanced, his eyes darting back and forth as they crawled forwards, grasping and clawing at the floors.

Eventually, Sammy’s back hit the wall the destroyed logo had been painted on.

“Fuck…” Sammy hissed. “Damn it, damn it, damn it…”

The monsters had surrounded him, their hoarse whispers incoherent yet at the same time sounding like desperate pleas. They drew back to swipe at him, ink flowing out of the sunken holes on their faces that counted for eyes.

Sammy, feeling as though his heart was in his throat at this point, drew the axe back. “Goddamn it…” He spat.

Then he swung it at one of the abominations, biting his tongue as he felt claws sink into his arms.

Absolute chaos ensued, more so than there already was. There was a flurry of claws and slashes and Sammy was so disoriented that there were times couldn’t even tell if he was hitting the monsters or a wall. Sammy eventually just began running on adrenaline, attacking and swinging even those is arms felt as though they had been poked and prodded at with thousands of sharp needles.

He wasn’t sure how long it had took to kill them-when there are multiple monsters, one usually doesn’t focus on how many hits it takes to kill just one-but there was a point in time where he spun around to attack another one, only to find that there were none left.

He turned his attention back to the monster he had just killed. Whatever form it had had been lost, it’s body reverting to misshapen blob that had began to seep and disappear into the floors.

Sammy let out large, wheezing breaths, almost as bad as the wheezing noises the monsters had made. His shoulders heaved up and down, a horrible, stinging pain radiating throughout them every time they did so. He lightly touched his arm and winced, drawing it back to see a mix of red and black on his fingertips. If he didn’t have ink poisoning beforehand, he most certainly had it now.

Despite the soreness in his neck, he looked down at the ink on the floor that had once been alive and trying to rip him to shreds.

Those things…just thinking about them raised so many questions. What the hell were they? Their whispers…what were they trying to tell?

A sudden recollection of what Henry had told him appeared into his mind, when he had discussed what the Music Department was like and how the band members had…claws…

Those…those weren’t…were they?

_Oh god…_

Sammy pressed his hand against his mouth, choking back the bile rising in his throat. He swallowed, the nauseous feeling he had previously felt now back and much more apparent, growing more intense every second. He looked away, his eyes quenched shut as he tried to shake the thought out of his mind.

_Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it…_

It was with that realization that a loud rumbling was heard, followed by clicking noises as he noticed a gate at the right side of the room begin to open, the rumbling similar to when Utility Shaft’s gate had been powered-up as well.

From the speakers that were attached near the logo, a horrible mesh of sounds began to play. Clanking and churning accompanied by the sickening thuds he had heard when the axe had collided with the monsters. Layered underneath these grueling sounds, in soft whispers, were unanswered pleas; cries and desperation for freedom that they would never receive.

Sammy didn’t know how long it took, but eventually he managed to force himself to press on. He took his eyes away from the ink stains on the floor and walked through the now opened area, trying to get rid of the churning and desperate whispers looping in his mind like a broken record player.  


	17. Chapter 17

The hallway to the office was musty and dim.

Of course, the studio in it’s entirety was like this. That had been established the moment Sammy entered the building. It was shabby, the air thick with the putrid smell of dry rot that made the simple act of breathing nauseating.

However, for some reason, this hallway seemed even worse than the other places.

It was difficult to describe why Sammy felt this place was worse, because in truth, the amount of decay it had was no different from any of the other areas. The walls still had slashes and cuts-though, maybe not as heavy as the ones in the Music Department Hall-and the dust particles that floated around wasn’t greater in size or amount. Muddled papers covered the floor of the hallway and had ink splattered onto them but other areas he had been in had plenty of drawings scattered onto the floor as well. Overall, there really wasn’t much that would make the place worse than the other rooms he had been in.

Yet, despite this, it just seemed more disgusting.  Sammy felt sickened just standing there and breathing alone felt exhausting. It almost felt similar to being in higher altitudes, where you couldn’t get as much oxygen in a single breath and ended up wheezing-ironic, considering he was probably underground and most certainly nowhere near the altitudes mountain-climbers had to deal with.

Maybe it was because the papers that covered the floors reminded him too much of his disorganized house, maybe there was an animal that made the mistake of crawling into the building and got stuck inside whatever space there was between the walls, rotting away. The point was, it felt horrible being in there and he didn’t want to stay there any longer than he needed to.

Sammy forced himself to walk, despite the pain he felt from the injuries he had received not too long ago. He turned to the first door on his right, and was surprised to see that it was unlocked.

It was the organ room. The organ was installed in the music department about two months after he had started working at the company. It was new at the time, each key sounding melodious and perfect. He had many memories with that organ, often going there during his short breaks and playing classical pieces; he wasn’t going to pass up the chance to play Toccata and Fugue in D Minor on a organ, after all.

Now, the organ contained no resemblance of what it originally looked like. It was slashed as the walls had been, keys ripped out and scattered amongst the floor, pipes cut in half and parts of them leaning against what appeared to be whatever was left of the music rack, and there seemed to be ink flowing out from the spaces that were missing pipes.

Sammy almost froze when he heard a strange, wheezing noise that almost sounded like a plea.

Suddenly, as if it were a reflex, Sammy jolted forwards and grabbed the doorknob, slamming the door shut so hard that the area around it actually shook for a moment. He panted, surprised at how fast his heart had suddenly started beating, it’s quickened pace causing him to feel sick.

He stepped back, still panting and still shocked by his sudden reaction. His throat felt tight and as beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, feeling as though butterflies were fluttering around in his stomach.

“Damn it…calm down.” Sammy told himself, clutching his chest as he tried to slow his breathing. “Breathe…”

He closed his eyes, trying to block out any distractions and focus on just regulating his breathing and heartbeat. Any time he opened his eyes and looked at the door, even slightly, was enough to cause his heartbeat to quicken again, so he eventually just stopped looking at it altogether.

When he finally had managed to calm down, he immediately turned away from the door so his heart wouldn’t speed up again. Instead, he looked forward, to the end of the hall, where the office that had once been his own was.

Just next to the actual entrance to the office was it’s sign, one that use to have his own name. However, his name had been violently scratched out. Instead, the name ‘CLEF JAMESON’ was painted over the scratched-out area in black ink. If one looked close enough, you could probably make out bits and parts of the original name.

It seemed that Joey had went through with his little pump switch plan that Sammy had been more than adamant about. He could make out the ugly switch through the glass window, which he was surprised hadn’t even gotten a single scratch.

Unfortunately, getting in there was, as per usual, not going to be easy.

A large leak was blocking the entrance, thanks to the horrendous quality of the pipes. While the amount of ink wasn’t as great as the amount that was blocking the exit, it still posed a problem.

Now, it might have been easier to just ignore the leak and go through the entrance anyways. Sure, there would be a bit of a spill, but it’s not like anybody would be coming to give the place a review on cleanliness anytime soon. Even if there were, that person probably wouldn’t have even had the chance to give it a negative hundred before being killed.

But a nervous, almost paranoid feeling was forced Sammy to stay in place.

He didn’t WANT to walk in that ink, even though he had technically done it before, not long after waking up from falling unconscious for the third time. The thought of something, one of those mutated things’ hands reaching out and snaking around his ankle, dragging him down into the ink with it…that thought alone caused him to stay rooted in place. Finding another way was better.

He turned to the window, wondering if he could break it open with his axe and crawl in that way.

After a few swings, he found out why it hadn’t been scratched up; the glass wouldn’t even slightly budge.

He started to lose hope, his heart quickening at the thought of having to go into that ink…when he noticed a cassette, leaning on the dry floor.

There was a simple click, and a familiar, accented voice was heard.

**The voice of WALLY FRANKS.**

**Okay, call me crazy or whatever you want, but I SERIOUSLY think there’s something up with that Clef guy. I know treble when I see it…pun intended, and there’s something not right here.**

**I mean, every single time I go to clean up-you know, do my JOB-this guy glares at me like I just insulted his mother! I was cleaning up the ink outside his office and I saw him through the window, just standing there and staring at me with this…expression. Wasn’t even writing music or anything!**

**Never thought I’d say this, but I’m actually gettin’ kinda scared of the guy. I don’t mean worried-he’s-gonna-yell-at-me like Lawrence did when I lost my keys-still haven’t found those yet, by the way; I mean worried as in worried-he’s-gonna-try-and-hurt-me. Mr. Drew’s can be scary but this guy just seems to have it out for me and I don’t know why.**

**Polk seems to notice that, too. Guy’s one of the brightest bulbs here and even he doesn’t know why he hates me so much.**

**Seriously, if that guy starts getting violent, I’m outta here.**

 

**END OF AUDIO.**


	18. Chapter 18

At the beginning of the audio, Sammy hadn’t really taken Franks seriously.

Sammy had witnessed Franks’ clumsiness and sometimes experienced the outcomes of his screw-ups first-hand, whether it be spilling buckets of soapy water onto him or bumping into ink pipes and causing them to break and become even more leaky then they already were. His habit of slacking off or tuning out everything around him out didn’t help his case, either; Sammy lost count of how many times he had to yell at him to wake up after catching Franks leaning against his mop right next to neglected floors, just snoring away. He also lost count of how many times Franks would wake up startled and would slip and fall onto the floor from said wake-up calls.

As a result of this, when he listened to Clef’s audiotape, Sammy had been under the impression that Clef was simply annoyed by how underactive Franks could be at times when it came to doing his job and how easily distracted he got. Even people that got along with the janitor were bothered by it, so it wasn’t much of a surprise that someone else had found it irritating.

Hell, if Norman hadn’t been mentioned, that perspective probably wouldn’t have even changed.

However, that wasn’t the case. Wally HAD mentioned Norman, and that just made the situation feel much more sinister than how he had originally perceived it.

Clef was getting mad at Franks when he _was_ doing his job-not when he wasn’t doing it. Granted, he probably DID get bothered when Franks was slacking off as well, but since even the projectionist himself didn’t understand why Clef harbored so much anger for Franks, it was quite clear that he was angry even when Franks was doing what he was supposed to be doing. 

Recalling what Clef had said in the previous tape about Franks showing up when he didn’t want him to, it was almost as if Clef was doing something he couldn’t let anyone else see and Franks was getting in the way. Franks had mentioned that he wasn’t writing music either and was just standing and staring at him as well…

Sammy almost regretted agreeing with what Clef had stated earlier; Franks annoyed both him and Clef, but it was most definitely not for the same reasons.

Sammy stepped back from the old cassette tape, his expression one of seriousness as he thought about what his next course of action would be.

Franks had mentioned that he lost his keys in the tape. Knowing him, he probably never did find them, so keeping an eye out for those would probably be a good idea; having some supplies would certainly be handy.

Sammy gave one last, quick glance at the large puddle of ink that had accumulated on the floor. While his viewing of it was most certainly brief, he felt himself grow tense automatically the moment he eyed it, as if one of those mutated inky creatures would emerge from the puddle at any second.

His eyes darted away from the ink, though he still felt himself feeling on edge all the same. There seemed to be a slight tremor in his left hand, the tips of his fingers involuntarily shaking from what seemed to be just the sheer anticipation of a threat appearing alone. He tried to cease the tremors, curling his hand into his a fist so he would be able to focus on where the keys might have been.

Well, Franks probably kept on making the same mistakes as he did when Sammy was working in the studio, so they more than likely fell into a rubbish bin when he was sloppily making his rounds.

He was about to start walking, but paused.

_Wait…what the hell did Franks mean by pun intended-_

He stopped, only now realizing the joke about Clef’s name, and let out an annoyed groan as he rolled his eyes.

“Goddamn it, Franks.”

Sammy wasn’t surprised when he fished out the keys from the second garbage can he came across.

This was usually where Franks lost his keys; he’d make his rounds, not even hearing the jingle of the keys or crumpling sounds as it hit the paper in the trash can. It was something he was both accustomed to and increasingly irritated with every time it happened, so it wasn’t unexpected.

What was unexpected, however, was getting into the janitor’s closet and finding, of all things, another cassette tape from Clef Jameson.

**The thing about us as a species is that we’re all inherently evil. Some plaster fake smiles and disgusting cloying tones but in the end, everyone’s hearts are as vile and as black as the ink that runs through these pipes. I see it in them, too. That’s one of the reasons I like Drew. He doesn’t shy away from that. He understands that the only way to get to the top is to throw other people off it. He’s literally the only guy who can say he believes in me and I’ll know he’s telling the truth.**

**These projects…they can be a way to show people what they truly are underneath, so they can truly understand and start living! But that damn janitor always gets in the way. Not only that, but he’s telling others about how I’m scaring him.**

**Drew told me not to do it yet…that we have to wait until it’s ready.**

**Sorry friend, I know you believed in me but…I’m only human.**

**No one can find out about this.**

**He needs to be silenced.**

There was a click, and the sounds of old static coming from the dusty tape began to fade away, but the revulsion Sammy felt did anything but. On the contrary, it grew worse each passing second.

He absolutely loathed Joey, and now he was finding himself holding just as much contempt for this Clef guy. He sounded like the kind of pretentious twat that would preach drivel without actually having a basic understanding of what he was preaching.

Here he was, talking about how everyone was evil and that he was the only guy aware of it, yet here he was, working with and blindly trusting Joey Drew of all people, a man that would probably sell your soul to the devil if it meant he could get a single pint of ink in return.

Henry didn’t know what Joey was doing and was generally a sane person before everything went to shit; THIS guy not only helped Joey with his little schemes but thought he was _trustworthy_. That alone was just hypocritical and stupid.

As for Franks…he couldn’t help but be pissed off at that, too. He didn’t like Franks, but he could never imagine him getting put through the suffering the workers were put in-at least not without feeling sick, that is-and that last line about ‘silencing’ cemented that; he didn’t want to picture what Clef meant by that and he didn’t want to find out, either.

Observing the other shelves of the janitor’s closet, he found there to be, unfortunately, nothing more than a few cans of bacon soup that seemed to have been left untouched and unspoiled; there was nothing else that could’ve been useful.

Sammy let out a sigh, rolling his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me…” Sammy muttered, grabbing one of the cans from the shelf and looking at it. “Why does THIS have to be the only thing here that qualifies for food?”

Sammy cringed just looking at the can. Bacon soup was disgusting anyone who managed to get past the first bite was either brave or lacked functioning taste buds, but he knew preferences would have to be set aside; he NEEDED to eat.

He sat down on the floor, laying his axe aside for the time being. He scanned the can to see if there were any scratches, but paused when he noticed someone had marked a couple of numbers on the can. The numbers were a bit smudged-up, but upon closer inspection, he was able to make out the numbers.

 _1939_.

“Huh…year the studio closed…” Sammy recalled. “Well…year it went to shit, that is.”

He supposed remembering that would be useful in the future.

When Sammy had finally managed to tear the lid off of the can, he cringed at the insides of it. The bland, mushy sludge that looked more like tapioca pudding than soup looked no different than when he had first came across the stuff and made the grave mistake of trying it.

But…it didn’t look spoiled.

Swallowing his pride and preparing for the worst, Sammy tilted the can back and downed it.

Instantly, the all too familiar taste set in, and Sammy grimaced in disgust at the horrible flavor that was more like cooking oil and grease than actual bacon. He gagged, feeling his entire body shiver as if he had just consumed poison; with the way it tasted, it might as well been.

He groaned. “Oh god, that was horrible…” He said after finally managing to finish what was left in the can. “…still just as bad as before.”

Well, he managed to eat something that at least had the tiniest bit of nutrients in it, and that was enough to let his hunger subside for the time being.

He just hoped he’d be able to get out of this place soon and join his sister and her family for dinner, like he said he would.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of dark imagery near the end of this chapter. Thought I should let you guys know.

After the horrid, foul taste of the soup finally left his mouth, Sammy got up from the floor and made his way back to the music department hall, the man pausing to scrutinize every single puddle of ink he came across that seemed big enough to house one of those mutations along the way. When he finally got back to the hallway, the overall trip much longer than it needed to be, he peered at the dim corridor that led to the recording studio before making a swift glance at the entrance that would lead to the projector booth at the other end of the hall.

The projector booth acted like a balcony, connecting to the recording studio, so going there first to get a view of what state the recording studio was in would probably be the best idea.

When Sammy entered the booth, he was surprised to see that both the projector and Norman’s chair were in the exact same place they had been in since Sammy had began working there. He would’ve thought they would’ve been torn up and destroyed as well, yet here they were.

Looking back, Norman was a pretty alright guy. He often kept to himself, but he could tell when to leave someone alone and he respected that-though that might’ve been because Sammy almost always wanted to be left alone.

Sammy placed his hand on the back of the chair, withdrawing it with surprise when he felt it already begin to squeak and crack loudly, as if not even a feather could support it. He turned away from the chair, finally now observing the recording studio.

It seemed to be an absolute mess even up from the recording booth. Chairs were violently sliced in half and scattered about the floor. Instruments-drums, banjos, violins, pianos-were all torn to bits. The drum skins were stabbed straight through, like they were simply just pieces of thin paper that got too close to a serrated knife. The banjos and the violins had been sliced in half, their strings broken and barely holding onto whatever was left of the rest of them, and the piano…well, it pretty much meant the same fate as the organ.

Sammy felt disgusted at seeing such a sight; from the moment he got his first one he treated his instruments with the upmost care, making sure his piano was properly tuned and his bows had just the right amount of rosin applied to them. Seeing those instruments completely smashed and ripped to shreds…well, let’s just say the word ‘sick’ didn’t even begin to describe how he felt seeing that.

Aside from the mutilation of perfectly good instruments, there appeared to be some particularly big globs of ink on the floor; he would have to be extremely careful going down there, to say the least.

After looking around a bit in the projection room itself, Sammy found another cassette tape, lying next to the projector.

There was a loud click when he pressed the broken button, and the familiar voice of the projectionist echoed throughout the booth.

**Now, I sees a lot of things. But I cannot, for the life of me, see the reason why Mr. Drew picked Clef Jameson as a replacement. I understand desperate times call for desperate measures, but this man…something just ain’t right. You can see it in his eyes.**

**Just yesterday I was with my projector, the was band playing whatever strange noises Clef calls music, and all of the sudden Wally Franks just bursts into the recording studio with wild, frightened eyes, looking as pale as a ghost.**

**Before anyone can say anything, he dashes behind one of the band members and practically begs e’m to not say a word.**

**Suddenly, Clef Jameson bursts into the room and calmly asks where ‘that janitor’ is. Now, that man might’ve sounded calm but I could feel the rage coming off of him. After no one said anything, the guy just smiled and left, thankin’ all of us like nothing was wrong; like he was just looking for Wally to ask him to clean up a ink spill.**

**He just seems to have it out for the guy for no reason. Even when the poor kid’s just doing his job Clef looks like he wants to strangle him.**

**Wally wants to set something up in the recording studio that he can hide in, but I think that’s a bit of a stretch.**

**He’s already got Clef on his case, and I don’t know how Mr. Drew would react to it, but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t want that man on his case, either.**

Franks really wasn’t exaggerating when he mentioned Polk or Clef. Based off how Clef sounded in his previous recordings, Sammy was already more inclined to believe that Franks wasn’t kidding; this recording just got rid of any suspicions he might have had, was all.

Since Polk managed Franks wanted a place to hide in the recording studio, he just prayed to god that he wouldn’t find out what Clef did as his method of ‘silencing.’

Going into the recording studio, Sammy was unbelievably relieved to find that none of the ink puddles seemed to be exploding out from the ground like geysers anytime soon. They were inanimate, not shifting or showing any signs of life no matter how close he got to them.

Still, that didn’t make the visit enjoyable, of course, as he still had to walk through piles of broken instruments; He nearly tripped several times over guitar bits and almost cut himself off of their strings. He felt like he was walking through piles of splintery lumber.

Eventually he got out of the pile, finally finding the floor-and another cassette tape, lying next to the recording booth, which had been torn to shreds as well, the only thing still-standing being the recording sign bolted over it.

 _Why ARE these here, anyways?_ Sammy thought to himself as he observed the tape. It wasn’t that they were a hindrance; if anything, they helped him get a better understanding of what the hell had been going on here. But, that didn’t make these recordings any less stranger.

When the tape came on, he was surprised to hear the happy, cheery voice of the voice of Alice Angel herself.

**I’m really loving work here, even if it’s only been my second month.**

**Gotta admit though, it’s just not the same without Sammy. I and a lot of other people miss his music. But I understand why! Mr. Drew can be a bit uh…strange at times. I’m glad Sammy helped me see that.**

**As for Clef…I don’t really like his music. I prefer what Sammy wrote, especially Alice’s song. I mean, c’mon! Who doesn’t love ‘I’m Alice Angel?’**

**Speaking of which, lots of people seem to like my Alice Angel voice! Sammy even told me in a letter that she might be as popular as Bendy one day! How exciting is that? I feel like she and I are really going places!**

**I know I said Drew’s a bit of an oddball and Clef’s, well…Clef, but Alice just seems like she’s a part of me. I just…love voicing her. I hope I can continue to do that!**

Sammy looked away from the tape. He just couldn’t look at it anymore.

Susie Campbell was just such a kind person. She was almost always beaming, chatting with others and just somehow able to make any person feel better, even if their day was the lousiest one they’ve ever had. She didn’t deserve to get stuck in a place like this…none of them did.

He wanted to believe that Susie hadn’t gotten stuck here-that she was living life, happy and smiling like she always did-but he wasn’t Joey Drew.

He knew belief could only go so far.

While looking away from the tape, it caused him to notice something else, and that was the closed gate.

The gate had been there before Sammy had left, but it could be easily opened without any problem. Now, it seemed to be closed like the gate for the Utility Shaft. However, instead of switches lying around, there was some dusty box bolted to the wall right next to it with a set of numbers on it.

Franks mentioned he needed a place to hide…did he manage to convince one of the electricians to set that up?

Well, whoever got it installed didn’t matter, because Sammy knew what was behind there; one of the contraptions to control the amount of ink going through the pipes. If he wanted to drain the ink that was blocking his-well, Clef’s-office, he needed to get into that room.

He studied the keypad closely, trying to think of any set of numbers that might be the right code.

Well thankfully, remembering that number he found on the soup can actually DID come in handy.

After pressing in ‘1939’, there was a brief pause before the gate began to slowly open, making similar noises that the Utility Shaft gate made as it’s cogs and machinery twisted and turned.

Sammy let out a soft noise of gratefulness, as if this was the most optimal thing that had happened to him the whole time he was in this chthonic studio.

“Thank the lord for convenience.” He said to no one in particular, overjoyed that he didn’t have to spend anymore time in this damn department.

He walked into the room-no one was in there, thank god-and went over to the valve that controlled the flow of ink. After a few twists, his hands sore from twisting the rusted metal, there was a slight rumble before a sound similar to when you pull the plug out of a drain was heard.

He turned away from the system and began walking, feeling, for once in this whole trip, content.

At least until a Bendy cut-out popped out from the right side of the entrance.

Sammy jumped back, startled by the cardboard cut-out that hadn’t even been in the recording studio before.

For a brief moment, it seemed to stare at him with it’s wide smile, as if it was taking a quick peak at him; emotionless, being a cut-out, of course.

Then, just as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared from sight.

Sammy breathed heavily, any relieved feelings he previously had leaving him. His heartbeat soared, racing heavily and making him feel like he was about to have a heart attack any moment.

Not only that, but he felt a growing sense of fear, getting that slight shiver you feel in your spine when you’re supposed to be alone but there’s a uninvited guest lurking in the shadows, watching you.

Slowly, Sammy began to walk towards the entrance. The whole area suddenly felt much darker and colder than it had originally been, and the shivering feeling he had just seemed to grow worse with every step he took.

Almost similar to what the cut-out had did, Sammy peaked out from behind the entrance, looking to see if there was anything there.

There wasn’t. It was exactly the same as before.

He let out a sigh, stepping out from behind the entrance and walking into the studio.

_This place is just making me weary, is all. There’s nothing here now. I’m fine. I’m-_

Springing forth from the ground, one of the once static ink puddles came to life, emitting a screeching, garbled noise as the broken instrument parts went through it’s shoulders and claws. Sammy leapt back, barely missing it’s torn-up claws.

Just like before, however, it wasn’t alone; more of them sprung up from both the puddles of ink and from the piles of broken instruments.

The ones that came out from the puddles of ink got sliced from the broken pieces of the instruments, but the ones that crawled out from the actual piles…it was horrifying.

Pieces of banjos stuck through their shoulders and chests, guitar strings twisted around their slimy necks and it seemed to _hurt_ , the creatures helplessly clawing at the strings to no avail. Some could barely move, their claws flailing about as they still tried to attack Sammy despite not being in any condition to do so.

Those things…they all use to be _band members_.

The ones that were able to move leapt forward, trying to claw and scratch Sammy while he was paralyzed by the horrors he was witnessing. Startled and without thinking, he hit them away with his axe, the mutations falling apart and melting away almost instantly.

He stared at the ground, feeling unable to move or say anything.

This was too much. He couldn’t take this. What the hell was all of this-

His panicked thoughts were cut short by the screeches of the struggling creatures. He looked up, seeing some of them now feebly clawing at the strings around their necks and the others still struggling amongst the broken instruments.

He held his axe to him, his shoulders trembling as he saw what was once people he knew now reduced to suffering abominations.

…He had to do it.

He couldn’t take seeing them like this.

He had to put them out of their misery.

“…I’m sorry.” He finally managed to say, lifting his axe up and swinging it at the ink masses.


	20. Chapter 20

Sammy pulled the lever of the hideous, bulky pump switch, the switch projecting an array of squeaks and clicking sounds soon after.

Sammy didn’t say a word.

There was nothing to say.

Sammy looked at his hand that had been stained with ink splatter, his face blank; like a piece of paper held by someone who had so much to say but no idea how to write it all down. The tremors he had noticed earlier had now gotten worse, his fingers twitching and shaking uncontrollably. He finally broke his expressionless look as he curled his quivering hand into a fist, his teeth clenched as he let out a shuddering breath, looking down as he did.

He shouldn’t have went in there.

He shouldn’t have EVER went in there.

He should’ve just ignored the stupid damn leak that was blocking the office and treaded through it. If he hadn’t been so paranoid…if he hadn’t been such a goddamn coward…

Sammy quenched his eyes shut, unable to stop his shoulders from shaking.

“Damn it…” Sammy cursed. He brought his trembling hand to his mouth, his breathing becoming even shakier.

It was all etched into his mind; their pain, what he had to do…it was practically burned into his head, repeatedly playing in his mind no matter how hard he tried to shake the pestering thoughts away, and stayed with him even when he finally mustered up whatever diluted bit of strength he had left to leave the office.

Sammy began to walk down the corridor to the Music Department Hall, his mind still feeling cluttered and his hands still shaking uncontrollably-while his left hand wasn’t as shaky since he had the axe, he still felt tremors in his wrist-when a faint sound made him stop. It was a sound almost similar to when a needle is placed onto a phonograph record, just before the music starts up.

As if on cue, a faint jazz piece, layered with a touch of soft static and a burst of distortion, began to play in the Department Hall. Sammy tensed up as he felt a growing fear in his chest, recalling that he had had a rather similar encounter a long while back.

He wanted to stop and try to find another way, to turn around on his heel and walk back, to do ANYTHING other than walk into that hall…but he didn’t.

He had listened to his paranoia before, and look where that had got him.

He had come so far and went through literal hell just do get the stairwell drained. He wasn’t going to have everything he went through add up to nothing.

Slowly, Sammy began to ignore his paranoid, repetitious thoughts and forced himself to take another step…then another, and another.

The music grew louder the closer he got. The sounds, wherever they were coming from, were starting to grow even more distorted, the noises of the instruments becoming shaky and wobbly.

Yet, Sammy persisted, despite the voice in his mind repeatedly telling him to go back.

The sounds both continued to crescendo and continued to worsen in quality. Now, accompanying the music, were squelches and gurgles, as if someone had just began pouring ink into a speaker. There was a grating, scratchy noise, similar to what you’d get if you stabbed a table and dragged the knife across it. With every one of those scratchy sounds, the music changed in pitch and speed.

That voice in his mind was screaming at him by now, calling him every name in the book and demanding he turn around, but once more, Sammy ignored it.

Perhaps it had the right idea, but Sammy didn’t want to be here anymore. Just standing in the department for a minute long than he needed to be was enough to make him feel like vomiting.

He finally got to the Department Hall, looking around for the location of the sickening sounds, and froze.

The little voice in his mind that was just about to call him god knows what else went completely silent.

There, next to the entrance way to the stairwell, stood a hunched figure, facing the wall.

It was unlike any of the other creatures Sammy had ever encountered. It was tall and lanky, it’s ink-covered body looking mangled and skewed. The rangy creature, still hunched, dragged it’s hand across the wall without turning away from it’s original position, and that’s when Sammy realized it wasn’t even really a hand at all.

Whatever bit of human structure stopped at the wrist, where the ink began to appear more like a sickle, curving and arching and ending with a sharp point. It dragged and twisted the deformity across the wall, the music changing with each scratch.

It continued to carve into the wall, seemingly unaware of Sammy’s presence. There was a slight gurgle and a burst of static from the creature, and it began to let out a garbled hum, almost as if it was singing the music to itself, slightly swaying to whatever messed up song played.  

Sammy started to walk backwards, realizing that voice in his head probably wasn’t so paranoid after all…when he stupidly forgot about the axe he had in his right hand and it smacked against the wall with a loud clang.

The sickle-like hand stopped cutting into the wall, the music ceasing the moment it stopped. It paused for a second, before lifting up it’s head and turning to face Sammy, it’s head tilting from it’s crooked neck.

But the crooked neck wasn’t what shocked Sammy and almost made him drop his axe in new-found horror; what shocked him was much more prominent than anything else.

Protruding from the monster’s mouth was the horn of a gramophone. It was in-between the creature’s jaws, leaving them completely broken and gaping. The gramophone horn was the same bland color as everything else in the studio that wasn’t covered by ink, being yellowed with age as well.

It was then Sammy noticed that this creature had many other features that carried resemblance to an old record player. There was a crank sticking out of it’s crooked neck, and the malformation that resembled a sickle appeared to act almost like the needle of one.

The creature stared at him for another moment, it’s eyes a pair of sunken, black holes.

Then, like the flip of a light switch, the eyes came to life, the sunken holes glowing brightly as it let out a loud, garbled screech and ran at Sammy.


	21. Chapter 21

When the monster had stormed towards him, screeching and gurgling, Sammy didn’t have time to react.

He really didn’t; the creature swung in demeanour quite quickly, going from holding a almost bemused look as it examined Sammy to letting out inhumane screeches and gargles in a second. Well, maybe he did have enough time to react, but it sure didn’t feel like it. After all he had went through, he felt much more tired and sluggish. By the time he had fully processed that he NEEDED to run, the musical-like creature was already too close.

Knowing that, at this point, running wasn’t going to do anything, Sammy scrunched his eyes shut and went completely still, his fists at his sides as his shoulders went stiff, holding his breath as he felt his heart in his throat.

He expected to feel some sort of pain, to feel that needle like contraption slice him in half or something even worse than that-although he wasn’t sure what would be worse than getting sliced in half by a sickle-like needle-but that pain never came.

After a few seconds, Sammy, who was thoroughly and rightly confused, opened his eyes a small crack only to find himself staring at the monster, inches away from him, his eyes wide open and his pupils shrunk.

The monster breathed heavily, it’s shoulders heaving with each, wheezy breath. After a few seconds, it’s head started to slowly move left and right, letting out strange, soft murmurs that almost sounded…perplexed, in a way; like Sammy had suddenly disappeared, even though he hadn’t.

The creature looked around a bit more, and after a few more seconds  it’s illuminated eyes suddenly returned back to black, sunken holes before it turned around and sauntered back to where it had previously been, the music starting back up the moment the blade-like projection touched the wall.

As the creature continued to scratch the walls, Sammy stayed completely paralyzed, shocked he was still breathing. It took him until the music changed pitch that he finally snapped out of his shocked state and realized what had happened.

It couldn’t actually _see_ things. It could only _hear_.

The monster continued to scratch at the walls next to the stairwell as butchered jazz music played, showing no signs of going anytime soon.

…He was going to have to distract the damn thing.

At this point, Sammy wasn’t sure if feeling both terrified and annoyed was the proper response to a situation such as this, but it wasn’t like there was anyone around that had survived something like this to tell him otherwise.

Slowly, and this time NOT letting his axe clang against any walls, Sammy took slow steps back into the office hallway, the creature still unaware as it continued to hum to the music it was making. As he tried to be a discreet as possible, he tried to think of something in the area that he could use to distract the creature that would be effective without bringing attention to himself, then remembered the bacon soup cans that were in the supplies closet.

Huh…he never would’ve thought he would be happy that cans of grease, mush, and oil that masked themselves as soup were around.

He had gotten to the supplies closet, which he had left open, and found the cans exactly where they originally had been, stocked on the shelf. He examined them, one would be effective enough to cause the amalgamation to walk away from the entranceway long enough so that he could get through the stairwell unharmed.

He reached for one, ready to put his plan into motion.

He didn’t think one of those cans would fall on it’s own without him even touching it.

Unfortunately, however, it did; the can toppled to the ground with a loud clanging noise, despite the fact that, again, he never even touched the damn thing-it was almost as if the studio was just trying to play some sick joke at this point-and Sammy could’ve sworn he felt his heart drop into his stomach when he heard the music in the Music Department Hall stop.

Without even thinking, as if it was a reflex, Sammy went into the supplies closet, fished the keys out of his pocket, and locked himself inside.

He sat down, hugging his knees to his chest as he tried to steady his breathing. He closed his eyes, his shoulders shaking as he prayed that it didn’t actually hear him.

Eventually, the music started up again, and he let out a sigh of relief. He was about to get up, but stopped when he noticed something.

…The music was growing louder.

Almost immediately, he sat back down, his hands covering his mouth as he tried to quiet his hyperventilating, complete and total fear filling his mind as the sounds of scratching became more apparent.

_No, no, no, no-_

“ **Wi…weep fo…me.** ”

Sammy’s eyes shrunk and he stifled a gasp as he heard what sounded like lyrics for the first time, the voice of the singer sounding like it was being played on a broken, scratched-up record, the sound of footsteps growing louder as it got closer to the closet.

“ **Willow** **weep for me…** ”

For once, the sound was almost clear, though distorted noise was still apparent. Both the song and the footsteps continued to crescendo much to Sammy’s dismay, growing louder and louder and showing no signs of hushing anytime soon.

“ **Bend your branches green along the stream that runs to the sea…** ”

It was almost outside of the closet door, now. Sammy gulped as he heard it let out a raspy growl.

“ **Listen to my plea…** ”

It stood in front of the closet, and Sammy heard the sound of it placing it’s hand-the one that was more human-like-onto the door.

**“Hear me…weep for…”**

Just like that, the voice began to devolve into static and it became impossible to make out any other lyrics.

There was a noise that sounded as if the creature had stepped back from the door, and the music slowly quieted, as did the footsteps.

Sammy quietly got up from where he had been sitting, and pressed his ear against the door with his axe clutched to him, looking to see if he’d hear any sounds; a hiss, a gurgle, wheezy breathing…anything that would’ve made it apparent that that thing was still out there.

When no such sounds came, Sammy finally decided to leave and steadily unlocked the door, cautiously opening it a crack to make sure it wasn’t close by. Seeing nothing, he opened it all the way, cringing and every little squeak the door made with each movement.

He looked around, seeing nothing; there was no one in the corridor, no music, no footsteps or shallow breathing…nothing.

It was like the creature had disappeared…disappeared into the walls or floors, maybe…Sammy didn’t really know and honestly didn’t care that much about how the physics of these creatures worked; he was just glad they gone now.

Sammy exhaled. He couldn’t help but feel calm; hearing nothing but the faint buzzing from the fluorescent lights made him feel as though the worst was finally over. He turned around to go back to the closet, grabbing one of the cans just to be on the safe side would be a good idea.

He ended up finding himself face to face with the monster.

Sammy tripped back, stumbling as the monster stared at him. Whatever breath he was about to take was caught in his throat at the unexpected sight. He desperately tried to shake away the feeling of terror and helplessness that was starting to make him become paralyzed with fear as the monster loomed over him, the illumination making him feel like it was staring into his soul.

The creature didn’t immediately run like it had before, however. Instead, it seemed to make a noise that sounded like…words, as if it was speaking to him. Well, almost speaking to him; whatever it tried to communicate, Sammy didn’t understand as anything it tried to get across was so layered with white noise it was barely audible.

Nevertheless, based off of the fact that the creature immediately began walking towards him after doing so, it’s eyes glowing even brighter and it’s breathing becoming almost aggressive-sounding, he knew it wasn’t good.

It didn’t take long for the monster to catch him, even with it being blind. It grabbed him by his shirt and viciously slammed him against the wall, causing him to drop the axe with a loud clang. The creature seemed amused, even letting out a raspy noise that resembled a chuckle.

As it held him against the wall by the collar, Sammy desperately tried to peel the inky hand away from his neck, the feeble struggling seemingly entertaining the creature even more as it’s chortling increased.

Then it observed it’s blade-like hand, and Sammy could’ve sworn that thing would’ve held a grin wider than the Cheshire Cat himself if not for the gramophone horn.

There was a loud scratching sound, and the music started up again, now blaring and causing his ears to ring. His eyes darted left and right, and he nearly had a heart attack.

There, in his peripheral vision, Sammy saw the blade being dragged against the wall towards him, growing closer to his neck.

_Oh, shit…_

Sammy panicked as the blade continued to grow closer, the monster obviously having fun with tormenting the musician. It stayed the same pace, the damn thing obviously wanting to make his torment last (Either that thing went crazy from the ink and took insanity to a whole new level, or they were already a psychopath beforehand.)

Frantically, he tried to break free of the creature’s grip, but it only tightened with each attempt. He tried to look around, seeing if he could find something…anything at all that he could use to break free. As he tried once more to pry the claw away from his neck-once again, to no avail-he saw that he could just make out the handle of the axe.

As the needle-like projection inched closer, Sammy leaned dangerously close to it, trying to reach forward and grasp the handle of the axe on the floor while still keeping his hand on the claw around his throat. The creature, being blind, did not know he was reaching for the axe and simply thought this was another futile attempt at trying to break free, letting out a gurgle of laughter at what it seemed to think was just pointless struggle.

Reaching as far as he could, Sammy cringed as he got closer to the pointed blade, feeling sick when he still couldn’t reach the axe on the floor. Finally, he gulped nervously, and, just as the record needle was about to cut his neck, Sammy leaned forward as quickly as he could and grabbed the axe, scrunching his eyes shut as he swung it up with whatever strength he could muster.

The music abruptly stopped and the monster let go of Sammy. He collapsed to the floor, letting out a string of coughs as he tried to take in steady breaths.

CLANG!

Sammy jolted at the defined noise. It sounded akin to when a knife or silverware drops onto a floor. Sammy slowly turned his head to the direction of the sound, and saw the mangled, inky, blade-like needle on the ground. Looking up, he felt his blood run cold at the sight of the monster.

It was completely still, sharing a resemblance to a statue. In fact, it didn’t even look like it was just alive moments ago, trying to brutally kill him while laughing at the sheer thought of doing so; it looked more like a abstract art project now than anything that was once alive.

Sammy got up, struggling and biting his tongue at the pain he felt. He looked up at the monster, feeling chills at how still it actually was. It’s eyes had stopped glowing now, and it’s head was titled upwards, as if it was staring at something else that Sammy couldn’t see.

After a few seconds, Sammy sighed, looking away from the creature. What he had just went through was…well, confusing and terrifying. He had no idea what the HELL had just occurred, but he didn’t want to find out.

 _Just…go to the stairwell, Sammy…_ He thought to himself, sighing shakily. _You gotta keep moving-_

“FIX IT!”

Without any warning, the monster lurched forwards, grabbing Sammy by the collar and screaming at him, it’s voice distorted and broken. He could finally hear what the thing was saying, but that was anything but comforting.

“FIX IT! BRING THE MUSIC BACK!” The creature let out inhumanely screeches, now clawing at Sammy almost feebly. “BLOCK THE NOISE!”

Before Sammy could even pull the creature away, it let out one last, high-pitched squeal, before collapsing onto the floor. Sammy jumped back as the monster dissolved into the floor and seeped through the cracks, his heart feeling as though it was pounding out of his chest.

All Sammy could do was watch as the monster slowly dissolved, unable to say anything as it’s hand desperately reached out before disappearing as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's the end of our little record-player friend. Hope you liked my creation!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, sorry for not updating sooner! I had some writer's block and I was pretty busy. Hope you like this chapter!

Sammy sat on the floor, breathless, just inches from the puddle that, just a few moments ago, had a malformed claw that tried to grab him sprouting from it.

The inky hand had sunk back into the small pool of ink and the wheezing, gasping pleas had ceased, but the rest of the ink hadn’t disappeared just yet. Usually when one of those amalgamations were killed off the ink would seep into the cracks of the floorboards almost instantaneously, but it was strangely taking much longer than it normally did.

 _‘Normally…’_  Sammy couldn’t help but scoff, despite the terrifying ordeal he had just went through. _Never believed I’d end up using the word ‘normal’ here. Life’s full of surprises, ain’t it?_

Sammy pushed himself up off the ground, breathing heavily from exhaustion as the puddle continued to sink down into the lower floors. He began to find that he was zoning out as he watched the ink slowly ooze through the floorboards, feeling his thoughts melt away and leaving his mind blank.

Upon realizing this, he blinked several times and quickly looked away, snapping himself out of his trance. He let out a soft exhale and brought his hand to his face, tiredly rubbing his eyes.

He let out another sigh. He felt…man, even just trying to find the right words to describe how he was feeling made him feel tired. He felt…foggy-yeah, that’s the right word-like there was a of layer of mist covering his mind that wasn’t heavy enough to make everything blurry but just heavy enough to make it more difficult to focus on things he normally wouldn’t of had a problem focusing on, like questions such as ‘Why have I been staring at the remains of a murderous gramophone for the past five minutes?’

He wasn’t sure why he was zoning out so much-or rather, he did, but he was too tired to think about why he was-he just knew that his heartbeat was way quicker than it should be, that he felt like he was going to pass out at any minute, and that he should probably get to the stairwell before any other residents of this hell-hole decided to drop by.

He walked around the slick puddle, ignoring what sounded like a faint gurgling noise amongst what remained of the black, bubbling liquid. He gripped the fire axe to his side, cringing when he realized how roughed-up it was now. It would most likely break on him sooner rather than later; though based on how Joey treated budgets and money, he shouldn’t have been surprised that the axe was cheap and less durable.

He took a few more steps down that office hallway, his feet dragging across the floor as he forced himself to keep on moving.

_Come on, please don’t faint…I’ve already fainted three times, I don’t need a fourth-_

“Alright, what’s with all of the racket!?”

Sammy stopped the pleas he was making to himself and stopped mid-step at the sudden voice, not expecting to hear someone and even less expecting someone who sounded clear and coherent. The voice was coming from the main hall, but he couldn’t yet see who it was that was speaking.

“I mean, seriously. I just cleaned up an entire floor and I’m trying to relax, yet here you are, going from playing some nice music to screeching like someone just set your hair on fire!” The owner of the voice trailed off for a moment. “…Wait, do you have hair?”

An inky creature wearing what appeared to be a shirt with the sleeves rolled-up and a pair of overalls appeared from behind a corner, a flat cap covered in ink on it’s head. It continued to speak, not yet realizing that Sammy was there. “Well I don’t care, cause’ you know what? I might have been a bit scared of you-okay really scared of you-but I’m done!” It pointed towards the hallway. “You better stop making all that racket or I’ll…”

The creature trailed off once again, only this time it was upon realization that Sammy was standing there. It continued to awkwardly point, it’s ink-covered face still scrunched up with a determined expression but it’s white pupils widened significantly, as if it wasn’t sure what to do

There was a brief moment of silence between them, the two just staring at each other. Finally, the creature let it’s hand fall to it’s side, and it’s face shifted to determined to confused.

Then, it spoke.

“…Sammy? Sammy Lawrence?”

Sammy paused for another few seconds, before finally speaking.

“… _Franks_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a short chapter but I wanted to introduce Franks :)


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I was a bit busy so I took some time. Here's the latest chapter! Also, a bit delayed, but a BIG thanks to all of the people who have been leaving reviews! They've been very helpful and I greatly appreciate them! Now, onto the chapter!

Sammy had no idea what to say. He really didn’t.

There had been plenty of things that Sammy wasn’t expecting to see in that studio, and Wally Franks was certainly up there on the list; well, an alive one that could communicate clearly, at least. He had just assumed that something horrible had happened to him based off of the audiotapes left by Clef. Hell, for a bit of time he actually thought that the strange gramophone monster WAS Franks; a sick creation made by the loathsome man to torture Franks just for being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Well, something horrible DID happen to Franks but it wasn’t what Sammy had expected.

What happened wasn’t what he expected at ALL.

Sammy continued to stare, at a loss for words from the fact that not only was Franks alive and walking around, but from the fact that it seemed like he hadn’t even changed that much.

“Gosh Sammy, is…is that really you?” Franks asked, his head tilting to the side as he stared at Sammy with bewilderment.

Sammy snapped out of his dumbstruck state, giving Franks a quick nod in response. “Yeah,” He replied. “It’s me.”

“Wow…” Franks stared at him in awe. “You look…you look…”

“Old. I know.” Sammy finished, not surprised by Franks’ statement. He was in his twenties the last time Franks had seen him; there was no point in denying that he had aged.

“…Uh, actually, I was going to say you look like an old codger that spent most of his life in prison, but I guess that’s close enough.” Franks responded. He gave Sammy a thumbs-up, a grin wide enough to rival Bendy’s-minus the malice and dread that Bendy’s grin held, of course-accompanying it. “Points for effort, though!”

Sammy paused for a moment, blinking a few times at the correction and wondering if he had heard him right. Then he proceeded to splutter at the unexpected comment, completely forgetting what he had been planning to say.

“I’m-I’m sorry, what?” He stuttered out. He gave Franks an incredulous expression, both surprised and offended that out of all the things Franks could’ve compared him to, he decided to compare him to a prison inmate. “I do NOT look like I just got out of prison!”

Franks defensively put his hands up, the grin on his face still wide as he did so. “Relax! I’m not saying you look like you _just_ got out of prison.” Franks assured. “I’m just saying you look like you spent a good amount of time in prison at some point in your life; there’s a pretty big difference!”

“No, there really fucking isn’t.” Sammy snapped, his fists at his side and his shoulders stiff as he glowered at Franks. “I haven’t spent any time in prison, and I don’t look like I have either. That’s that.”

Franks chortled, giving a carefree shrug as if everything was completely fine and the two were in a place that wasn’t anywhere near as terrifying as the studio. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, buddy!”

Sammy scoffed and rolled his eyes, feeling his shoulders relax. His anger had subsided at that point, although the familiar feeling of annoyance caused by Franks being…well, Franks…still lingered.

Franks sighed, wiping a tear-well, technically a glob of ink but you get the idea-from his eye. “Boy, you haven’t changed at ALL.”

“You literally JUST talked about how much I’ve changed,” Sammy pointed out. “And very rudely too, if I may add.”

“No, that was appearance wise.” Franks countered. “Like, yeah, appearance wise alone you’ve changed a lot, but other then that you still talk and act pretty much the same.” Franks began to tap his chin with his fingers in thought, tiny little bits of ink flying off his face with each tap. “It’s like…It’s like…” He then snapped his fingers, as if he had a sudden eureka moment. “It’s like the younger you fell into a coma and woke up years later. That’s it!”

“Okay, I wouldn’t go THAT far.” Sammy said defensively. “I’ve changed somewhat.”

“Well, name something, then!”

“What?”

“Name something you do that’s different!” Franks answered. “I’m…what’s the word…intrigued.”

Sammy rolled his eyes again (Rolling his eyes at Franks was certainly one of the things that hadn’t changed, he knew that for a fact). “Fine,” Sammy agreed. “I…I’ve…” He trailed off, gazing to the floor as he thought about it.

_I still can’t cook to save my life, I’m still a workaholic, my house is still a cluttered mess…_

“It’s okay, I can wait.”

“I’m thinking!” Sammy barked, earning an even wider grin from Franks. “I’ve…I’ve got…”

After a few more moments, Sammy brought his gaze away from the floor.

“…I’ve got a cat.” He finished.

Franks was silent for a few seconds.

Then he burst into a fit of giggles.

“R-Really? That’s it?” Franks wheezed as he held his sides, hiccupping from laughing so much. “Wow…you-you sure you didn’t have that thirty-year-long nap, buddy?”

“Oh, shut up.” Sammy retorted. “I’ll have you know I probably wouldn’t have gotten her when I was in my twenties.”

Franks snorted. “I don’t think you’d be able to get anything in a coma!”

“I was not in a fucking coma.” Sammy insisted, finding himself grow increasingly irritated with the joke. “For the love of god, stop bringing that up.”

“Well, where’s the cool cat at now?” Franks inquired, before letting out another chuckle. “If you keep your office as clean as your house, I’d say drowning in music sheets.”

Sammy let out an annoyed grumble. “She’s staying with my sister, if you must know.”

“Oh yeah, your sister!” Franks giddily clasped his hands together. “I forgot you had one of those! Allie, right? She was really little last time I heard about her. How old is the tyke now?”

“The ‘tyke’ is in her late thirties.” Sammy replied. “She has a family of her own now.”

“Wow, thirties? Time flies!” Franks exclaimed. Despite the situation being incredibly depressing, Franks seemed excited as he talked, as if none of this actually bothered him. “Man, I never thought someone born years after I was would become older than me. That’s both cool and REALLY weird!” He continued to pester Sammy, questioning him about his family. “So, you got any new additions? Aside from your cat?”

“If you mean just me then no; but, as I said, Allie has a family of her own. She’s married and has two kids.” Sammy answered. “She agreed to watch over my cat while I was in Ohio. It was supposed to only be for the weekend but…uh…” He addressed the environment. “This happened.”

Franks snickered. “Good thing you got her to watch over the little furball, then!” He claimed. “Cause’ it kind a looks like your trip has been extended.”

Sammy nodded. “So it would seem.”

However, that comment Franks made got on Sammy’s mind. He had no real idea how long he had been down here for, and April would definitely make a big deal out of him not coming back even if he was just a few days late. Then, that thought caused him to begin to worry.

If he went missing…what if that prompted them to go here themselves?

That worrisome thought felt like it was just him over-thinking, yet at the same time it seemed plausible. April was reckless and would do things without as much as a second thought. The idea of them going into Ohio to look for him only to have April run into this hellhole made him feel nauseous. He couldn’t stand the thought of her, Allie, or anyone for that matter seeing what he had seen in this place, or worse, being drenched in that volatile ink and put through pain and torment like the people he once knew were-

“Hey Sammy, are you alright?”

He snapped out of his panic-induced haze, only now just realizing he was hyperventilating. Franks was in front of him, eyeing him with concern. “I know I shouldn’t talk much since I’m covered in ink but you look really pale and sickly.” Franks continued. “You’re breathing all wheezy, too. You okay?”

“What? No-I mean, yes I’m…fine.” Sammy huffed. “Don’t wo-”

Before Sammy could even finish what he was going to say Franks snatched one of his arms and held it up, causing him to scrunch his eyes shut and let out a hiss of pain. “Oh gosh, what’s up with all these cuts?” Franks questioned in surprise. “I thought this was ink at first. Man, you’re roughed-up!”

“Let go of my arm!” Sammy snapped as he pulled it away, cringing at the stinging from the gashes. “I don’t need you to rough it up anymore!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Franks apologized. “I’m guessing the band members weren’t too happy when they saw you, huh?”

“No…they weren’t.” Sammy stated. He felt himself grow pale, recalling the gruesome sight he witnessed in the recording area. He suppressed the urge to shudder at the memory; he did NOT want to recount that experience.

“Aw man, I’m sorry about that.” Franks gave him a little pat on the back. “You didn’t deserve to go through that-”

“Neither did they!” Sammy exclaimed, causing Franks to jump back a bit in shock at the sudden outburst. “None of them deserved what the fuck they were put through!” Sammy had no idea where that sudden anger had come from, as what Franks had said was, for once, anything but irritating. He just knew that this sudden anger seemed to carry a layer of distress, and he was beginning to feel overwrought from it.

Then, just as that sudden anger had came, it had left, leaving Sammy drained. He let out a shaky sigh, bringing his hand to his face and trying to rub the blurriness out of his eyes, having no idea what Franks was thinking of him now. “I’m…I’m sorry, okay? I…I just…”

“This place gets to your head, doesn’t it?” Franks gave him a small smile, letting out an equally tired sigh as he did. He waved his hand dismissively. “It’s okay, man. I understand.” Franks jabbed his thumb back. “Tell ya what; why don’tcha follow me? I set up a little cozy spot for myself. You can rest up and everything. I even got hammocks! Who doesn't love those?”

Sammy thought about it for a moment, before nodding. “Sure.” He agreed. “Would be nice to actually get some sleep instead of being knocked unconscious.”

Franks chuckled. “That’s the stuff! Come on, let’s get outta here.”   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I hope you guys are liking the story so far! I hope you guys like Wally, too!


	24. Chapter 24

Franks led Sammy through the halls, Sammy finding himself nearly tripping over planks of wood that were strewn about the floors multiple times. Franks kept his chatter to a minimum for once, opting to whistle a tune instead. It sounded like he was trying to whistle ‘Moonglow’, but his whistling was not even close to being in the right key and was incredibly grating as a result.

Still, while Sammy didn’t admit it, he did prefer the strident whistling over the ambient background noise that had surrounded him since he had entered the studio.

After a bit more walking, Franks’ whistling suddenly died down. “Hey, Sammy…” Franks began. “…Mind if I ask you something?”

“No, go ahead.” Sammy answered. “What is it?”

“What the heck happened up there?”

Sammy looked at him in bemusement, not understanding what he was referring to. “Um…what thing?” Sammy inquired. “You’re going to have to be more specific; a LOT of things happened up there.”

“I’m talking bout’ the screeching.” Franks elaborated. “I was resting in my hammock and I could hear it from all the way over there. It sounded like you had a run-in with one of the not-so-friendly locals or something.”

“Are you talking about that…record-player _thing_?” Sammy asked. He probably could’ve described it in more detail, however it’s kind of difficult to elaborate on such a unnerving creature, especially one that was fused to a gramophone of all things.

Luckily, he didn’t have to explain any further, because that was exactly who Franks was referring to. “Yeah, that guy.” Franks nodded. “So you had a run-in with him, too? Never heard him screech so much; you must’ve really pissed him off.”

“Well, it was WAY more than a run-in.” Sammy claimed. “He held me up against a wall and tried to slice my throat open with his weird sickle hand.”

“Wha-really!?” Franks looked at him incredulously. “Gosh, first you have a run-in with band members and then you have to deal with THAT? Tough break, man.”

Sammy let out a tired huff. “It hasn’t been an enjoyable trip, that’s for sure.” He said. “I managed to slice that sickle thing he had off-”

“Why is old-codger you cooler than younger you?”

“Shut up. Anyways, I sliced it off and he just…screamed at me.” Sammy described, shuddering as he remembered the pained, hoarse screeches. “Begged me to ‘bring the music back’ and just…collapsed.”

“Wait…do you mean he died?” Franks asked in surprise.

“No, he woke up, apologized, and walked away-yes, he fucking died!” Sammy snapped, his tone dripping with the richest of sarcasm. He let the sarcasm drop afterwards, however. “He collapsed and…gurgled and begged while sinking into the floorboards. Reaching out and trying to…trying to…” Just trying to recall what happened made him feel sick.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Franks assured. “You don’t need to go too deep into it if it makes you feel all wonky. Just wanted to know what happened, was all.”

“I’m fine, I’m not…wonky.” Sammy denied, although he certainly didn’t _feel_ fine, to be honest. “Do you…do you know who that guy was?”

“Eh, sorry…I don’t.” Franks shook his head. “I didn’t see what happened to him or anything. I mean, I _tried_ to ask what his name was, but he got REALLY mad and garbled and screeched what I can only imagine was some not-so-friendly words at me…so I kind of just decided to leave him alone and let him be him.”

“Is…that why you were sounding all ‘determined’ earlier?” Sammy inquired.

“Pretty much, yeah.” Franks nodded. “I tried to avoid him as much as possible since he would try to skewer me any time he saw me, but all that screaming was giving me a headache so I finally mustard up the courage to confront him.”

“Well, seems like you did that for nothing,” Sammy stated.

“Not really!” Franks disagreed. “I mean, I can help you out now. That’s got to count for something.”

Sammy didn’t say anything in response to that.

Eventually, Franks stopped directly in front of one of the doors. “Here,” He said. “Just through this door, a couple more hallways, and then we’ll be outta here and in a nice, cozy spot.”

Franks went to reach into his pocket. “Ah…dang it.” He muttered.

“What is it?” Sammy raised an eyebrow.

“I um…forgot I uh…kind of lost my keys…?” It almost looked like Franks was sweating, but it was somewhat hard to tell because of the fact that he was drenched in ink. “I found more keys so I put them on the key chain and I lost that…”

Sammy pulled the keys he had found out of his pocket. “Do you mean these keys?”

“Hey, yeah! They’re they are!” Franks took the keys out of Sammy’s hand. “Thanks, man!”

“I can’t believe you couldn’t find your keys after all these years.” Sammy scoffed.

“Hey, I found my keys.” Franks defended. “I just lost them again. They must have fallen outta my pocket when that walking record-player went after me.”

Sammy rolled his eyes. “Well, make sure you don’t lose them on the way to your residency-at least not more than once.”

“Aw, get outta here with all that lecturing business. What are you, my father?” Franks asked as he unlocked the door, before snickering. “Well, you’re old enough that you could be, anyways.”

“Ha, ha.” Sammy dry laughed.

Franks swung the door open. “Just a little bit longer,” Franks reassured.  

“I know.” Sammy replied. “I’m patient.”

He followed Franks through another hallway, than went into this separate room. It was a large area they hadn’t had when he was there, but the area itself didn’t seem to actually have anything of use in it. He supposed it’s only purpose was to connect other areas together, as all there really was in there was just a steel roll-up door at the end of the room.

“We just need to go through there, go down the hall on the left, and we should be good.” Franks rambled. “Mind your step. There’s some planks I haven’t bothered to move out of the way.”

Sammy nodded, about to walk on ahead, but stopped. “…wait, do you hear that?” He asked, causing Franks to turn his head towards him in confusion.

“Hear what?”

“Listen.”

The two went silent for a moment, and then Franks heard it as well.

There were sounds of scratching and scraping from above, like a bulky, clawed-creature was squirming about the floors.

Franks inhaled deeply. “Oh boy…”

Before Sammy could even ask, Franks began to shove him forwards, towards the roll-up door. “Come on,” He urged. “We’re getting’ outta here.”

“Wait, what?” Sammy stared at him, perplexed. “What is it?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll tell ya when we get to my spot.” Franks said all of this at an unbelievable speed, without missing a beat. “Point is it’s bad.”

“Fair enough, but I can walk myself.” Sammy insisted, stepping away from Franks. “Just-”

A large, hunched creature, like the ones from the department hall, emerged from an inky puddle, trying to grasp Sammy and sink it’s inky jaws into his shoulder. As if on instinct, Sammy swung his axe and knocked the creature off him, the tortured abomination instantly falling to the floor and sinking through the floorboards.

Franks looked at the other ones emerging with panic. “Come on, guys, really? Do we have to do this now?” When they all started ganging up on Sammy, he groaned. “Oh, come on! Give the guy a break!”

It hadn’t taken long for them to be defeated, thanks to Franks fending them off, but Sammy still couldn’t stop the feelings of guilt for having to do such a thing.

“Okay, let’s get outta…Sammy?” Franks paused, seeing Sammy just...staring at his axe. He had an almost pained look on his face. “…buddy?”

“I’m fine.” Sammy answered, although he didn’t sound fine. “Let’s just go.”

“Y-Yeah…right.” Franks said as he went through the entranceway, Sammy following.

Sammy went to go chop through some of the planks that were in his way, but it seemed like today wasn’t in his favour as the axe broke on instant contact.

“Ah, shit.” Sammy cursed. “I should’ve known this wasn’t going to last much longer.”

Franks laughed. “Well, there isn’t really anything else that will require chopping up to get past, so you should be fine.”

Sammy looked ahead, and noticed a large lake of ink; possibly the most ink he’d seen. Rivulets dripped from the ceiling into the ink, the ink bubbling.

It was then Sammy realized that the ink was bubbling…more…than usual…

Before he could even wonder, there was a loud rumble.

Springing forth like a geyser, a tall, malformed figure sprung out from the ink, it’s body mangled and skewed.

But it wasn’t the man that resembled the record-player; it was worse.

Standing right in front of him was Bendy the Dancing Demon, looking less like a demon and more like a grotesque painting thrown in a wood chipper. It’s body barely looked like Bendy, yet it’s grin and white tie were proof enough.

Then it saw the two, and it’s grin seemed to widen.

Then, without even taking a second to prepare, the Bendy monstrosity charged towards them, it’s grin widening with each, quickening step.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, hope you like this chapter! It's a bit longer than my other ones this time :D

Sammy pressed his back against the blocked door, scrunching his eyes shut and feeling his heart race with every sickening thump and scratch against the surface of the only thing separating him and Franks from a painful demise.

Their encounter with Bendy had been brief yet terrifying nonetheless. The moment that ghastly demon emerged from it’s inky habitat, Franks didn’t even need to tell him where to go; he just started running down the nearest hall, Franks right alongside him, large smears and blotches of ink appearing out of thin air and staining the walls, the substance painting them black.

The moment they had went through the entranceway at the end of the hall Franks slammed the door shut and blocked it with a large plank of wood, the demon just steps away from the door. Both he and Franks, out of fear that the plank of wood wouldn’t be enough to keep that _thing_ from getting passed, pressed against the door as the monster hit and slammed it with it’s deformed hands.

What made Sammy’s heart jump the most, however, was the sounds that chthonic creature made as it continued to attempt to break down the door. It’s growls and groans we’re FAR from human-they were more like the sounds a child would hear if they imagined a monster lurking under their bed.

Eventually the thumps against the door ceased, and soon, Sammy heard the large footsteps of the creature-which sounded more like the squelching of mud-faded away, indicating that “Bendy” had gotten bored and sauntered off.

Sammy slid down to the floor, breathless. Franks followed suit, wiping sweat he didn’t have off his brow. “Whew!” Franks exhaled. “That…that was a close one.”

Sammy tried to breathe, finding even that action difficult. It felt like someone had dunked him in water and held him there for a solid minute. “No…shit…” He managed out, his shoulders heaving up and down. He wiped off some of the sweat on his face with his wrist, although that didn’t do much good as all it really did was smear ink and dirt on his face. He couldn’t help but cringe; he hadn’t seen a mirror in a long while but he could only assume he looked like he had spent a month using a dumpster as a place of residency. “Is…is that what…you were so scared about?”

Franks nodded. “Yeah…that guy’s bad news. He usually doesn’t come around here that often but when he does…” Franks shuddered. “…let’s just say even ‘Music Man’ was scared of him; would stop playing his music the moment that _thing_ made any sort of hint that he’d be showing up.”

Sammy pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Fucks sake…” He cursed. “Should’ve figured I’d see that thing again…”

“Oh, so you’re already…what’s the word…acquainted? I bet he welcomed you with open arms.” Franks joked.

Sammy would’ve glared at Franks, but he felt too drained to even be angry at that point. “It was something like that.” He said flatly as he stared ahead, looking at nothing in particular.

“Well…” Franks began. He pushed himself off the floor and stretched, letting out a loud yawn as he did. “I don’t know about you, but I think I’ve had just about enough runnin’ around for today.”

“I’ve had just about enough of everything for today.” Sammy muttered.

“I can tell. It ain’t exactly difficult to see.” Franks commented. He held out his hand to Sammy. “Anyways, I doubt you wanna sulk about it in that spot for much longer. You comin’ or what?”

Sammy tiredly pushed Franks’ hand away, insisting he could get up himself. “I’m not sulking.” He stated as he pushed himself up off the ground, although due to his lack of energy, his weary tone made it sound like he was.

Franks let out a chuckle. “Sure thing, pal.”

* * *

 

Sammy was, for the lack of a better word, surprised when they had finally gotten to Franks’ hideout (Which he labelled the ‘Safe-House’) and the first thing he saw was an actual kitchen, a dinner table accompanying it. Franks had been brief when he described the place he had set up-hell, the only thing he actually told Sammy about was the hammocks he owned-so seeing a place that was like a one-story house, in _this_ hellhole of all places, was definitely a shock.

“So…what’cha think?” Franks asked. “Nice, huh? You like it?”

“You never told me you had a damn kitchen!” Sammy said in astonishment.

Franks shrugged. “Well, I DID tell you that I set up a little spot for myself.” He reminded.

“A ‘little spot’ can mean anything.” Sammy pointed out. “This isn’t even a little spot, either. This is a house!”

“…so you don’t like it?” Franks gave him a puzzled look. 

“Wha-no, I…” Sammy let out an irritated sigh. “…This place fine. I’m just…surprised. I didn’t expect to find a safe place in this studio, let alone one that’s designed to look like a damn house.”

Franks was quiet for a second, before shrugging. “That makes sense, I guess. I can see why this would surprise ya. I mean, seeing something normal here’s kind of like a guy waking up in the middle of his own funeral.”

“It’s a good thing but nobody knows how to respond when it happens?”

“Exactly!” Franks nodded. “Now we’re thinking alike.”

“I find that concerning.”

Franks feigned offense. “Wow, rude,” said Franks, although he went right back to grinning afterwards. “Anyways, speaking of kitchens, you look famished. You should probably eat somethin’ before hitting the hay.”

Franks was right. Despite his nauseousness, he was starving-and if he didn’t get food soon, the ‘starving’ part wouldn’t be a exaggeration. “Fine, I’ll eat something.” Sammy agreed. “What do you have?”

“Hold on, lemme check.” Franks went over to the kitchen, rooting around through some boxes he had next to some pots and pans. “Um…we got bacon soup. That good?”

Sammy felt his face reflexively scrunch up. “Er…anything else?”

“Well…let’s see…” Franks mumbled, going back to digging through the continents of the boxes. “Bacon soup…another can of bacon soup…oh hey!” He pulled out a can that had no label on it. “It’s a mystery can. Could have some-oh…wait…” He held the can next to his ear and shook it. “Never mind, it’s just bacon soup in disguise. I don’t have anything else.”

Sammy sighed, realizing that he’d have to settle for the greasy mulch instead. “It’s fine. I’ll have some…” He repressed the urge to vomit. “…bacon soup.”

“Alright. You just sit down and I’ll get it for ya.” Franks instructed. “Make yourself comfortable. Just don’t bend my playing cards, they’re my last pack.”

Sammy scoffed. “I wasn’t planning on bending your cards.” He informed as he took a seat at the table. He let out a yawn, surveying the area. There wasn’t much that peaked his interest. There was an old mop covered in ink and a few other cleaning supplies such as a broom and a dustpan. However, there was something that made him stop looking around and stare for a moment; there was an old, dusty banjo leaning against the wall.

“A banjo?”

“Oh yeah, I got it before Music Man trashed the instruments.” Franks explained from the kitchen as he stirred the soup-if you could even call it that-in a pot. “I’ve just been picking at it from time to time but I think I’ve gotten pretty good!”

“Oh, really? What chords have you learned?” Sammy inquired. Surprisingly, he actually wasn’t being sarcastic for once-he was genuinely curious.

Franks went silent for a moment.

“Uh…what ones are there?” He asked.

Sammy sighed. “Never mind.”

“Anyways…” Franks appeared around the corner, holding a wooden spoon and a bowl that had wisps of steam flowing out of it. “Here’s your meal. Don’t worry, no ink got into it-I think.” 

Sammy was slightly bemused by the scent. Bacon soup had a scent that was akin to a rotting dead pig, but this smelled fine.

“Well, don’t just stare at it! Dig in!” Franks insisted. “I didn’t make it for nothin’!”

“Alright, I’ll eat it. Calm down.” Sammy turned his attention back to the bowl of soup and slowly, as if he was inspecting to see if it was poison, dipped the spoon in the bowl and took a sip.

…It actually tasted good.

In fact, it tasted amazing; like someone that wasn't him had actually cooked up breakfast.

_That’s it. That last can fried my fucking taste buds._

“Is it good?” Franks asked. “My sense of taste isn’t exactly perfect these days, y’know?”

“It’s…good.” Sammy answered. He looked at the soup, than turned his attention back to Franks again. “Are…are you sure this is bacon soup?”

“Yep!” Franks nodded. “Why, you find it hard to believe?”

“Well…yes, actually.” Sammy replied. “It doesn’t taste anything like bacon soup.”

“That good or bad?”

“Good, trust me.” Sammy answered without missing a beat. “I would rather eat a bucket worth of wood shavings than taste that soup.” He took another sip of the soup before continuing his conversation. “Where did you learn to cook?”

“Oh, I cooked for my siblings all the time.” Franks explained. “We had a basic system: I cooked them up food, they cleaned up whatever mess there was afterwards.”

“Wait…” Sammy stopped. “You remember your siblings?”

“Course’ I do!” Franks exclaimed, shocked that Sammy would even ask such a thing. “Why the heck would I forget my own brothers and sisters?”

“You mean you remember stuff…outside?” Sammy questioned. He couldn’t help but question this; Henry didn’t even remember that his name was Henry for a few moments, yet Franks seemed to not suffer anything like that. “Outside of the studio?”

“Uh, yeah?” Franks answered, seeming perplexed by Sammy’s queries. “I don’t see why I wouldn’t.”

“What stuff?”

“Huh?”

“What kind of stuff do you remember?” Sammy repeated.

“Well it’s not like I remember every single second of my entire life, for goodness sake.” Franks remarked. “I’m not going to remember what kind of cake I had for my 2nd birthday or something.”

“I’m not asking that.” Sammy refuted. “How much of the stuff that you can recall is related to the studio itself?”

“The studio itself…?” Franks leaned back, putting his hands behind his head as he thought about it. “I mean, sure, there’s stuff I remember from working in the studio but not all of it’s related to that.”

“Can you give me any examples?” Sammy requested.   

“Hmmm…” Franks went quiet for a few seconds. “…I poured candle wax into my old man’s hair.”

“What else-wait, you what?” Sammy gave him an incredulous expression.

“Hey, don’t give me that look! I was five!” Franks defended. “I thought it would’ve made good shampoo!”

Sammy went to say more about that situation but stopped, whatever he was about to say falling flat. “…you know what I’m not even going to ask.”

“Look, why are you even askin’ me all this stuff?” Franks asked, before bringing his attention to the bowl in front of Sammy. “That’s gonna get cold soon if you keep this up.”   

Sammy tiredly exhaled. “I’m only asking you all of this because…” He faltered for a moment. “…I ran into Henry.”

Franks went quiet, sitting up and holding his hands together on the table as Sammy continued, listening intently.

“The man’s fucking lost it, I swear.” Sammy described. “He only remembers his times in the studio; he doesn’t remember anything else. Hell, he even forgot his name WAS Henry for a little while.”

“…that bad, huh.” Franks said with a disappointed tone, letting out a sigh.

“Have YOU seen him like that?” Sammy asked.

“Well, I hadn’t seen him in a LONG while…I think it was maybe ten years since the last time I saw him.” Franks explained. “But it wasn’t exactly what you'd call a pleasant encounter; he was crying because it was his anniversary with his gal and he couldn’t be with her.”

Sammy felt himself cringe at that statement. Hearing about a broken man breaking down even more wasn’t really pleasant imagery. “Well, now he doesn’t even remember he had a wife to begin with.”

Franks didn’t say anything for a few seconds.

“...You thought I’d end up like Henry too, huh?” Franks guessed. “Thought I wouldn’t remember anything else?”  

Sammy nodded. “Yeah,” He answered. “I’d have thought you’d have forgotten or…something.”

“Well, I haven’t met anybody else here that’s like me and remembers everything, so I might just be lucky or something-I don’t know.” Franks prattled on. “I mean, I got pictures of my siblings with me so that might be it.”

“You do?” Sammy gave him an odd look.

“Yep!” He pulled out a small, ink-stained book, revealing a bunch of pictures protected by plastic. “I always kept this thing with me while I worked. Good thing I did, too! You wanna see?”

Sammy sighed. “Later, Franks…I’m really tired right now.”

“Okay. Finish your soup before you get some shuteye, though.” Franks instructed. “I don’t need that or anything else going to waste.”

Sammy resisted the urge to roll his eyes; it wasn't like he was a child or anything. Hell, he was OLDER than Franks. “Don’t worry, Franks. I wasn’t planning on letting it.”

As Sammy finished up his food, he couldn’t help but contemplate on just how surreal everything had become; he hadn’t expected Franks to be alive and well, but it was even more unexpected to find that, out of all the people here, the one with the least common sense was the sanest.

In fact, it seemed like, as of now, he and Franks were the _only_ sane people here. Everyone else he’d seen had lost whatever semblance of who they once were. If Henry, the one notorious for being the one who kept Joey under control, managed to snap…who’s to say a few more days in this place wouldn’t make him lose it as well?

He was so busy thinking he hadn’t even noticed he had finished eating until he heard the wooden spoon clank against the bowl.

“There we go. Must be nice to actually eat something that’s actually cooked.” Franks took the bowl off the table. He gave Sammy a concerned look. “You okay? You look stressed.”

“I’m fine.” Sammy assured. “I just need some rest.”

He shook the rest of the worrisome thoughts out of his mind. He was just tired. He would be fine.

_Yeah…some rest. That’s all I need._


	26. Chapter 26

Sammy groggily attempted to open his eyes, but ended up scrunching them shut again at the unusual brightness. The studio was incredibly dim, so even the area having a little bit more light than he was accustomed to felt as if he was attempting a staring competition with the sun.

But then that puzzled him; why WAS it so bright, anyways?

After a few seconds, Sammy made the decision to find out and slowly opened his eyes, occasionally squinting at the brightness.

Greeting him was the ceiling of his bedroom.

Confused, Sammy sat up and tried to ignore the sudden headache he got from sitting up so quickly. It was definitely his bedroom; his closet, a cluttered bookshelf filled with music sheets and overdue library books, his messy writing desk that Maestro made into her bed…they were all here, and nothing seemed out of place-well, nothing except for him, that is.

Sammy looked down at the bed he was sitting in and felt the mattress…nothing at all felt off with it. It felt exactly as his mattress should have. He also noticed that he was now wearing a pair of flannel pajamas that April had gotten him for Christmas, and they didn’t appear torn or stained with ink, either.

As light shone through the blinds in his room, it took Sammy a few minutes before he finally breathed out a sigh of relief.

Everything he had encountered, all of that pain and suffering he had witnessed…it was all just a dream. It was a long, incredibly messed-up dream, but it was still a dream nonetheless.

Sammy eventually decided to climb out of bed, before stretching and letting out a loud yawn. He both felt relieved, yet also felt stupid for not seeing that it was a dream early on. All of that horrible stuff that Joey had ‘created’ was physically impossible-no matter how much belief Joey threw at it-and if he had actually realized he was dreaming earlier maybe he would’ve woke up and ended that nightmare early.

Well, that didn’t matter now; he was fine and he had songs to write.

Sammy got dressed and went down the stairs to his kitchen, Maestro greeting him happily. She hopped onto the counter as he poured himself a bowl of corn flakes, butting her head against his hands as he poured.

“Hey, careful now. You’re going to make me spill them all over the counter.” Sammy warned, to which Maestro simply did what she always did and continued anyways.

For once, he smiled in the morning and scratched her behind her ears. “I missed you.” He told her. She obviously didn’t understand him, being a cat and all, but he didn’t really care; he was just glad to see his cat again. She continued to pester him as he ate his cereal, rubbing up against his ankles as he sat at the kitchen table.

While Sammy usually didn’t focus on the weather-unless it distracted him from his work, that is-even he had to admit it was nice today. It wasn’t teeth-chattering cold but it wasn’t blistering hot out, either; just the perfect temperature. It might’ve been because he thought he was stuck in such a dark, horrifying place for so long as he usually didn’t really enjoy it when it was bright out, but he found himself feeling rather content with the blue sky today. It felt nice to be somewhere that wasn’t dim and yellowed with age.

After he was finished with his cereal, Sammy brewed himself up a pot of coffee, feeling like he hadn’t had it in ages. Maestro had finally decided to head up the stairs, leaving him with a few moments of peace to work. Finally, with a mug of coffee in one hand and sheets of music in the other, Sammy was ready to work. He set the music sheets onto the music rack of his piano, sat down, closed his eyes, and went to play.

…The piano made no sound.

Sammy opened his eyes, feeling confused. Slowly, he tapped one of the keys once more. There was a slight squeaking sound, but other then that, the piano made no other noise.

Sammy found himself growing even more perplexed. He tried other keys, his confusion and frustration continuing to grow when they reacted the same way. No matter how lightly or harsh he pressed the keys, every single one made the exact same noise. He tried the pedals to see if they would have any effect, but the piano still made the exact same squeaks.

Sammy got up and looked at the piano, contemplating what could’ve caused the problem. He went to open the dusty lid of the piano and see if there was any damage on the inside, muttering to himself as he did so. “What the hell is up with this-”

Sammy went dead silent as he peered inside of the piano.

The interior was filled with black, bubbling _ink_.  

“…what?” Sammy began, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.

No…what happened in that studio was a dream. It wasn’t real. He was home. He was-

Sammy reeled back as a large, inky claw sprung out of the inky pool, his back smacking into his dinner table. A deformed face with sunken eyes emerged, the owner of said face letting out loud, garbled screeches as it attempted to drag itself out of the piano, only to be pulled back by some hidden entity.

Before Sammy could even form a thought on what was happening, things began to change even more. The paint on the walls began to peel away, revealing aged walls, the peeled-away paint losing it’s color and becoming nothing more than blackened flakes in the air. The floor suffered a similar fate, the flooring peeling away and revealing old planks made of damp wood. Everything in the room-his dinner table, his bookshelves, his music-began to be drained of any and all color, becoming identical to the faded color palette the studio carried.

“No…this…this isn’t happening right now.” Sammy denied. He looked at the mug that had his coffee in it and grabbed it, trying to look for something, ANYTHING that could tell him his mind was just playing tricks on him. “I was having a mug of coffee just now-”

Sammy stopped talking, realizing that the coffee in his mug wasn’t even coffee; it was ink. He dropped the mug in shock, watching as the bubbling liquid inside of it spilled onto the floor.

He started to feel both sick and restless, the taste of ink beginning to form in the back of his throat. He involuntarily gagged, resisting the urge to vomit.

Music layered with heavy static began to play, but he couldn’t figure it out because it was all around him. He walked backwards, looking around as beads of sweat rolled down his face. He began to hyperventilate, feeling like he was going to pass out at any second.

There were so many noises going on in all directions that he couldn’t keep up-hell, he couldn’t even BREATHE at this point.

Sammy could’ve sworn his heart had stopped entirely when he felt a clawed hand on his shoulder.

Slowly, Sammy turned his head, and a tall, deformed, grinning monster met his gaze.

“Sammy…” The monster growled, causing the man yank his arm back in terror.

“Sammy…” It repeated.

Sammy began to back away from “Bendy”, the demon beginning to walk towards him in turn.

“Sammy…Sammy…”

It didn’t take long for Sammy to hit a wall, leaving him trapped and very little space for escape. “Bendy’s” grin seemed to widen even more; like he was enjoying the moment he would get to rip Sammy to shreds.

“Sammy…”

The monster raised a one of it’s large claws, and all Sammy could do was close his flinch away, closing his eyes as he waited for the inevitable-

“SAMMY!”

Sammy’s eyes flew open, and before the man could even register what was going on, found himself falling onto a wooden floor and hitting his head.

He tried to stand up and push him self up off the floor with one wrist, but ended up feeling too sick to do even that, still panicked as he clutched his head and hissed in pain, muttering a string of curses that would have his father rolling in his grave.

“Sammy, calm down, for Christ’s sake!”

It took a moment for him to process who the owner of that voice was.

“F…Franks?” He groggily muttered.

Franks sighed, kneeling down next to the man. “Jeez, Sammy. You scared the heck outta me.” He stated, offering Sammy a hand.

Unlike before, however, Sammy actually accepted the offer this time and slowly got up off the floor, feeling himself sway when he was up. “…I…What?”

Franks huffed. “You started muttering ‘This ain’t happening’ or somethin’ along those lines.” He explained. “Then you started breathing all funny, too. Ya looked like you were gonna suffer a heart attack any second, for crying out loud.”    

Sammy looked around, seeing that he had fallen out of the hammock Franks had set up for him. He let out an exhausted sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Damn it…”

He was so certain it was real. He got his hopes up that the studio was just a nightmare and he was back home, but instead it ended up being the other way around; just a lie, like one Joey Drew would cook up.

He wasn’t home with Maestro, working away at music or drinking coffee…he was here.

And the worst part was, after that dream, even when he DID escape, he knew for a fact he wouldn’t be able to tell if it was true or not.

Honestly, when it came to that, he had to give the studio credit.

Because at least, while in the studio, he knew the place was a true hell.

“You must’ve had one bad dream, huh?” Franks guessed.

Sammy exhaled shakily. “It…It was something like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about this suffering but if it makes you feel any better you can just stop right before the piano stops working and it technically counts as a happy ending, so there you go.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo it's been WAY too long. Sorry about that. I was kind of (Well super) busy and had a bit of writer's block.  
> Anyways, since there's been that remastering and all that jazz and I've sort of already completed the first and second chapters of this story, I'll try and at least mention some of the new characters introduced in the previous chapters. I'll be using the remastered layout of chapter 3, however, so yeah. Anyways, ONTO THE CHAPTER!

Sammy stared at the ceiling as he lay in the hammock, his hands clasped together over his abdomen, completely still safe for the occasional tapping of his fingers. Although it seemed like he would’ve been, he actually wasn’t deep in thought. Really, he wasn’t thinking much about anything, other then the fact that the old, musty, splintery ceiling seemed oddly interesting today.

Sammy had been like that since he had awoken from that nightmare, which he had no idea how long ago that was. He had refused to tell Franks about the contents of his dream, stubbornly insisting that he was fine and that a little nightmare wasn’t going to be the end of him.

Yet lo and behold, here he was, mesmerized by a ceiling of all things and staring at it for possibly hours because he couldn’t go back to sleep. He couldn’t help but look back at what he had said before about rest being all he needed. So much for that, huh?

Another amount of time passed-small or large, he didn’t know-before he was eventually snapped out of it by a loud clanging noise coming from the kitchen.

“Ah, come on!” He heard Franks exclaim in frustration. He hadn’t even noticed that Franks had gotten up from his own hammock and left the room. “These stupid boxes are about as sturdy as a chair with only one leg! I swear if one more of these break on me…” The rest of Franks’ ramble devolved into mutters, but Sammy was certain he heard ‘outta here’ at some point.

Sammy let out an irritable sigh, sitting up and slowly getting out of the hammock. He felt about as good as any other person would in this studio, which was to say not at all. He rubbed the back of his stiff neck, annoyed when he felt the lingering pain of the shoulder he had dislocated earlier. He was already sick and tired of feeling…well, sick and tired, but he had been feeling like that for, in his opinion, FAR too long. Ever since Henry had knocked him out, fate had been practically grabbing him by the collar and chucking him into life-threatening situation after life-threatening situation. Rest felt much more like one of those luxuries few are able to afford, at that point.

Sammy left the area, walking down the hallway and into the washroom to get a good look in the mirror. He was curious to see how closely he resembled a beaten up trash can that was left in a city dump and set on fire.

The answer he got was about what he had pretty much expected; he looked awful.

His clothes were tattered, ripped up, and stained with large blotches of ink, his nicks and cuts quite conspicuous through the tears of the fabric. Both his hair and his face were filthy, dirt and ink smeared on his face and a disgusting layer of grime in his hair. He doubted even fifty showers would come close to being enough to wash off all of the dirt and grime he was covered in.

He looked down at the sink in front of him, hoping there was a chance there was a bit of water he could use to wash his face. That hope turned to disappointment as runny, diluted ink shot out of the faucet the moment he turned the tap, splashing in the basin and hitting his clothes.

He quickly turned it off, feeling less frustrated and more ‘Should’ve expected that’ than anything, despite his clothes becoming even dirtier than they already were. “Well, it was worth a try…” He sighed before proceeding to rub the blurriness out of his eyes, beginning to feel the effects of not sleeping like he should’ve.

Sammy left the washroom, deciding to go into the kitchen instead of going back to staring at a ceiling-he had realized by now that ceilings didn’t make the best conversationalists. He went to the kitchen, ignoring the ink that had dripped through the floorboards from above and onto his head, and saw Franks had finished cleaning up whatever he had dropped and was now sitting at the dinner table, flipping through the little album he had and smiling as he did so.

He heard Sammy’s footsteps and looked up. “Oh, hey!” Franks greeted, giving him a quick wave. “How was your staring contest with the ceiling? Who won?”

“The ceiling.” Sammy answered, taking the seat across from Franks. “A certain someone’s clumsiness snapped me out of it.”

“First of all, I’ll take that as a thank you for snapping you out of it…unless you really did think you’d win a staring contest against somethin’ that don’t even got any eyes.” Franks began. “Second of all, I wasn’t being clumsy! The bottom of one of the boxes I use to store food in gave out cause’ it was super old and cruddy. I had to pick up all the cans and put e’m somewhere else!”

“I find it hard to believe that your clumsiness didn’t play a single part in that.” Sammy stated. He leaned back and crossed his arms. “Knowing you, you probably held it upside down.”

“C’mon now, I’m not THAT bad, Sammy. Is it really hard to believe me?” He feigned a hurt expression. “And here I thought we were becoming pals. I’m offended, Sammy.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it. I’m not Joey ‘believing in everything’ Drew.”

Franks smile faltered. “Y-Yeah…” He looked unusually uncomfortable, and it was at that point that Sammy realized he probably shouldn’t have mentioned Drew.

“Oh…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned him…”

Franks shook his head. “Nah, it’s…it’s fine.” He insisted. “It’s just…I haven’t heard that name in a long time, y’know? Feels weird when someone just says it like it’s nothin’.”

Sammy was quiet for a moment. Then he gave Franks a small smile. “…Well, Joey IS a nobody.”

Franks snorted. “He’d kill you if he heard you say that.”

“Good thing he’s not around, then.”

Franks chuckled. “You’re killin’ me Sammy, I swear.” He said, the uncomfortable feeling in the air finally subsiding. “Anyways, you feeling okay?”

Sammy’s small smile dropped, knowing exactly what he was asking. “I’m fine.” He answered.

“Y’know, if it’s bothering you…”

“Franks, I said I’m fine. Please drop it.” Sammy requested.

Maybe it was because Franks decided to use some common sense or something, but whatever the reason, Franks dropped the subject. “Okay, I’ll leave it be.” He agreed. “But if you change your mind later I’ll listen.”

“I won’t.”

“I know. You’re too stubborn for that.” Franks rolled his eyes.

Sammy was about to say that he wasn’t stubborn but that in of itself would’ve been pretty hypocritical, so he decided against it. “Can we just change the subject already?” He asked instead.

“Sure thing, pal.” Franks agreed, Sammy resisting the urge to let out a sigh of relief at that. Franks made a humming noise, drumming his inky fingers against the table. “Let me think…oh, I know!” He held up the little album he had been looking at. “You said you’d look at my photos later. It’s later now.”

Sammy thought about it for a moment. “…what the hell. Sure.”

Franks seemed overjoyed at that, reacting like he was a little child that just been gifted a brand new shiny red bicycle for Christmas. “Sweet!” He exclaimed, giddily opening up the ink-stained album pouch. The first picture was grainy, but not enough so that the photos were unrecognizable. Sammy could still easily make out the pre-inked Franks, as well as the several other people surrounding him, all varying in heights.

“So this…” Franks excitedly began, pointing at the first picture. “…Is my family. These three-” He pointed at the three boys next to him in the photo, all of them smiling brightly and waving at the camera. “-Are all of my brothers. The one with the overalls on-not counting me, of course-is Michael. He’s a bit of a troublemaker but he’s got a big heart. This one with the curly hair is George. He’s about the second oldest, but he is about as lazy as a cat on a Sunday afternoon.”

“So a younger you, pretty much.” Sammy concluded.

“Hey, I do my job!” Franks defended.

“Barely.”

“Well, that’s your opinion. Anyways, this one with the glasses is Brandon.” Franks continued, pointing to the shortest of the boys whom was wearing bulky glasses that were too big for him. “He’s as smart as a whip but blind as a bat. Poor guy can’t go anywhere without his glasses or he’ll mistake a grizzly bear for a big, fluffy dog.”

“Why, has he done that before?” Sammy asked sarcastically.

“No, but if he did it wouldn’t be a good thing. He tries to hug any dog he sees.” Franks answered. “He mistook a coyote for a dog once; with his glasses on, mind you.”

“Oh, was he alright?” Sammy inquired. A kid trying to tackle a coyote most likely wouldn’t end well.

“I swooped in at the last minute and grabbed him. He was just a bit shaken up, is all.” Franks recounted. He snickered. “Heh, the thing chased us down around for ten minutes straight. It was like ‘Tombstone Picnic’…just with less tombstones and picnics and more chasing.”

“So nothing like Tombstone Picnic?”

“Pretty much.” Franks nodded, ignoring Sammy rolling his eyes. “Anyways, these two girls here are my sisters. The taller one is Pamela. She might look polite, but she’s got attitude. I think she’s had more detentions for mouthing off to her teachers than any of us combined. She can be a sweetheart though, don’t get me wrong.” Franks rambled. “Anyways, this little tyke right here is Lucy. She’s only five. Isn’t she cute?”

Sammy could barely make out the little girl as she was hiding behind Franks’ legs, but he assumed she was; all kids were, afterall. “Sure.”

“She’s the sweetest little thing.” Franks continued. “You know how some people say there’s a man in the moon, right? Cause’ it looks like it’s got a face and all?”

Sammy gave him a weird look, not knowing where he was going with this. “Sure…?”

“Well, someone told her about it, and she took it a bit too literally. I came home only to find her covered head to toe in flour, and she told me she was trying to make cookies because she thought the man in the moon was lonely and would appreciate a gift.”

Sammy couldn’t help but feel a smile creeping up. It sounded just like something April would’ve done when she was Lucy’s age. The only difference was that April would probably end up eating all of the cookies. “How thoughtful of her.” He joked.

“That’s what I told her. After I got her cleaned up and all I helped her make e’m and promised I’d give them to him…then I ate e’m after she went to bed.” Franks let out an awkward laugh. “Felt a bit stomach sick after that, but she was delighted when I told her I gave e’m to the guy so it was worth it. She even tried to write him a letter but I told her they didn’t have postal service up there.”

“Shame. I was hoping to mail Joey up there and leave him stranded on that floating rock.” Sammy let out an over-dramatic sigh. “Guess that’s not an option anymore.”

Franks chortled. “Don’t worry, I’m sure there’s plenty of other places you can mail him to that’ll be just as bad.” He assured. “But yeah, that’s my family.”

“Where are your parents?” Sammy questioned. “Are they in other photos?”

Franks went silent at that, like he had before when Sammy had brought Joey up for the first time. When he did speak, he spoke slowly and unusually carefully. “They’re…not here anymore.” He answered.

Sammy wasn’t expecting that. “…Oh.”

“Yeah…my old man got sick a few months after Lucy was born and my mom...I guess she couldn’t handle raising us on her own cause’ she left a year after. I mean we were a handful so I don’t really blame her…I wish she left a letter, at least, though.” Franks sighed. “Would’ve been nice to know right away so I wouldn’t have been waiting for her to come home, you know?”

“…yeah, I know.” Sammy nodded.

“Also wish my old man didn’t decide to be a nimrod and blow our savings on stocks…talk about being irresponsible.” Just like that, Franks had gone from mourning to distaste for his father’s spending habits.

Sammy’s family hadn’t invested in stocks themselves-his father still suffered from unemployment and sickness, unfortunately-but he knew how severe the Stock-Market Crash was for the people that did invest. “Huh…your dad tried to invest in stocks?”

“Yep. He blew our savings and got a loan to help get the stock. Which he couldn’t pay off cause, again, he blew our savings.” Franks scoffed. “I mean, seriously, why would you get a loan if you wouldn’t be able to pay it off? It’s stupid!”

“Most people thought they could sell the stock for a high enough price and make a profit-”

“Those people are stupid.” Franks interrupted. “Seriously, don’t stock prices go up and down? Why would you go into debt to invest in that if there’s a chance it could plummet the next day?”

Sammy had to admit; he was impressed. Franks seemed to be rather knowledgeable on personal finance, which was surprising both because he was Franks and because he had been living in an abandoned studio with no form of currency for thirty years. Grant Cohen would’ve been pleased. “You seem pretty well-informed, huh?”

“Eh…I wouldn’t say that.” Franks disagreed. “I’m just frustrated with my old man. I mean, I loved my folks but…I’m not too peachy about havin’ to drop out of high-school and find work cause’ of them.”

“Well to be fair, it’s not like they teach you anything useful in highschool.” Sammy reasoned. “They still don’t.”

“Yeah, but I had plans, y’know?” Franks explained. “I had plenty of plans for what to do when I got outta highschool. Being a janitor wasn’t even plan Z.”

“What was Plan A?” Sammy asked.

“Plan A was comedy, by far.” Franks answered. He gave a fond smile as he recalled it. “I’ve always wanted to make people laugh. I mean, I probably wouldn’t be the next Charlie Chaplin, but getting at least one person to crack a smile is something.”

Franks frowned. “When Joey offered me a job here, I thought ‘Hey, it’s these folks job to make people laugh. At least that’s something.’ But nope! Everyone here acted like had Grandma just died. Don’t get me wrong, this place paid good and it got us all out of a Hooverville, but it was just too gloomy. This place was even more depressing then…well, the Depression. Pamela has attitude but at least she can take a joke. All of e’m could.” Franks sighed. “It’s been a good long while since I’ve seen them.”

Sammy didn’t say anything, unsure of what to say to Franks. He hadn’t known anything about Franks’ life before.   

Franks chuckled softly. “I talk bout’ Lucy like she’s still five…she’s probably bout’ the same age as your sister by now.” He smiled tiredly, leaning on his elbow. “I hope she’s doing well. I hope they all are. I mean, I taught e’m how to take care of themselves but…I still really miss them.”

He looked up at Sammy. “You think they miss me, Sammy?”

Sammy was taken aback by that question, but he didn’t show it. Instead, he kept his composure and nodded. “I’m sure they do, Wally.” He assured. “Do you want to show me some more photos?”

Franks seemed to brighten up when he heard Sammy use his first name for once, nodding. “Sure!” Franks flipped through to some of his favorites. “If you ever meet one of my siblings, don’t tell e’m though. Some of these are kind of embarrassing for them.”

Sammy chuckled. “I honestly don’t think they would mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voila! A bit of a longer chapter, but I had lots of fun writing it. Please, let me know what you thought of it! Till next time friends :D


	28. Chapter 28

There had been a lot more pictures than Sammy had expected there to be.

Normally if someone brings pictures of their family to work, you would expect it to be just a couple of photos, not a whole lot; Wally had almost every picture he ever took of him and his siblings. Not only had he kept an album that had over fifty photos in his pockets while he worked, but he had also somehow managed to keep it and the photos inside of it in mint condition for years despite the studio being a wreck even before everything went to hell. If Wally had taken care of his keys as well as he did with his photo album, he would’ve been one of the most efficient workers in the studio.

Sammy, up until that point, had still wondered if there was any chunk of Wally’s memory missing and he just didn’t realize it yet, but it seemed the years of being an ink creature did nothing to alter the memories of the times he had spent with his family. Wally pretty much had a story for every photo in the album. Some short stories, some long stories, but nevertheless each one had it’s own little tale of when it was taken and why.

If these stories were told under normal circumstances, Sammy probably would’ve probably been annoyed, thinking of them as long-winded and more of a distraction from his work than anything.

However, these circumstances were FAR from normal. Something light-hearted amidst this dark inky hell was exactly what he needed to keep himself from completely snapping, and he was actually _glad_ Wally had decided share a story with each photo he showed, finding himself almost laughing when he heard some of them (actually, maybe he _had_ already snapped. There’s usually something wrong when the words ‘Sammy Lawrence’ and ‘laughing’ are used in the same sentence).

One photo was of his brother George, snoring away on the sofa, whom had apparently almost ate a spider Michael had tried to feed him in his sleep.

Another was of Pamela, looking particularly smug in one photo and then completely annoyed the next. She had apparently had been sent home for being particularly rude to a teacher, and Wally decided to take a before and after photo of him announcing that she was grounded.

The one Sammy thought was a particularly funny story was the last photo-yes, there was actually an end-with Lucy at a pond they visited for her birthday. She had went up to Wally, crying about how there was an animal drowning in the pond, and begged him to get it out. Wally had ended up swimming around for over half an hour until he realized Lucy was talking about the fish; turned out Michael had tricked her into thinking fish needed to breathe periodically.

“He also tried to convince Lucy to give the fish CPR.” Wally said, coming to the end of his story. He snickered. “Pamela tried to make him kiss a frog in response. All around it was probably one our better birthday parties.”

Sammy had attempted to suppress a snicker, but it came out a lot louder than he had intended it to, which caused Wally to give him an incredulous expression.

“Did…I just hear Sammy Lawrence of all people laugh…and not in a sarcastic format?” Wally asked.

Sammy rolled his eyes. “Oh, shut up. I’ve laughed before.” He informed. “Hell, you’ve HEARD me laugh, Wally.”

“Yeah but…I haven’t MADE you laugh.” Wally pointed out. “I haven’t told a joke that made you actually suppress a laugh. I’ve basically achieved the impossible.”

“No, you really haven’t-”

“If I knew I would accomplish this in the future, I would’ve totally did Plan A on the side!” He threw his hands up in there in defeat. “Dang it!”

Wally thumped his head against the table, his arms now at his sides. “Well, that regret’s gonna stick with me for a while.” He muttered into it.

Sammy let out a long, irritated exhale at Wally. He gave him an exasperated expression, folding his arms looking away for a moment…until a certain question he had been meaning to ask him popped back into his head.

“Uh, Wally?” Sammy began, turning back to look at him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hm?” Came the muffled reply. “What is it?”

“You know-oh, for fuck’s sake, lift your head up already.” Sammy snapped. Wally lifted his head up off the table, tiny bits of excess ink from his hair sticking to the table. “Thank you. As I was saying, you know how you said you have most of your memories, right?”

“…yeah?” Wally gave him an odd look. “I mean, I kinda just told you all those stories…if it’s proof you want all I got is my photos-”    

“No, I believe your stories Wally.” Sammy cut him off. He sighed, trying to think of the right words to use. “I…understand…if it’s too…scary for you to talk about…but do you remember what…happened to you?”

Wally was silent for a moment.

“…You want to know how I became an ink thing.” He stated.

When Sammy gave a slow, awkward nod in response, Wally sighed. “Sammy, listen…I remember a lot of things but…that’s not one of e’m.” He tapped the side of his head. “Things in that category are a bit foggy, unfortunately.”

“So you don’t remember anything at all between before and…well, after?” Sammy questioned, hoping to at least some form of an answer as to what the hell was going on.

“Well…I think I remember one thing, actually.” Franks recalled. His face scrunched up as he concentrated. “After I was…I think I was knocked out, actually…I’m not sure. But anyways, I remember two voices, but they sounded really faded and distorted. It was like hearing someone talk while your whole face is submerged in water. I could barely hear them. I know one sounded pretty angry, though.”

“Angry?” Sammy gave him a curious look.

“Yep. Livid.” Wally nodded. “Tried to tell him to lighten up but I found I just couldn’t speak-or maybe I did but I couldn’t hear myself-and then I sort of blacked-out again, woke up, found my album…that’s about it, really.”

“Do you know what he was saying?” Sammy pressed.

“I couldn’t really make it out.” Wally shrugged. “I think I might’ve heard ‘It wasn’t ready’ and ‘You’ll be punished’ but I’m not sure.”

Sammy froze.

_Drew told me not to do it yet…that we have to wait until it’s ready._

Why the hell didn’t he think of it before.

“Wally…” Sammy began. “Do you think Joey was talking to…Clef?”

Wally paused at that name.

“…I…I think you’re right.” Wally confirmed. “It…it was them…and I…”

Wally trailed off, his white pupils growing wide.

“…I was near Clef’s office when I got knocked out.” Wally said with realization.

The two were silent for a moment, Wally with a serious look on his face as he thought about it more and more.

Sammy sighed, a growing feeling of guilt in his chest. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Listen, I’m sorry about this. I know it’s a lot to take in.” Sammy apologized.

“What? Don’t be.” Sammy looked up at Wally with a confused look, whom was grinning in response.

Sammy found himself at a loss for words. When he did speak, he could barely get a single sentence out properly. “But…I thought…”

“That stuff is useful to know, pal!” Wally informed. “I’ve wanted to know what happened for ages, but you gave me a shove in the right direction!”

Sammy let out a noise of relief, glad that Wally wasn’t freaking out about this info.

“…besides, it’s not a lot to take in. I already knew Clef was a massive jerk.”

This time Sammy’s laugh was much less suppressed than before.


	29. Chapter 29

Well, relaxing and not having to fear pungent, inky experiments springing out of puddles had been enjoyable while it had lasted, but Sammy knew he was going to have to deal with that again, as much as he was against it. If he wanted to get out of the studio, he would have to leave the shelter sooner rather than later.

At least, he would leave sooner, if a certain someone wasn’t so ridiculously incompetent.

“Wally, look, you just have to-no not…” Sammy let out a frustrated growl. “Oh for the love of-Wally, just place it in the panel! It’s not that hard!”

Wally turned his head to him, lever in hand. He was SUPPOSED to be putting the lever into a door panel, yet he had decided to make ten times more difficult than necessary. “I don’t know…are you sure that’s the right way to do it?”

“Yes, I’m positive.” Sammy responded sharply, his patience wearing thin.

Wally snorted. “I don’t know about that, Sammy. You seem pretty negative right about now.”

“For god’s sake...” Sammy rolled his eyes and snatched the lever out of Wally’s hands without a second thought, hastily jamming it into the panel and pulling it despite Wally’s annoyed protests. “There!” He exclaimed after the sounds of machinery and cogs started up and the door began to open, giving Wally an exasperated look. “It really wasn’t that difficult!”

Wally frowned and crossed his arms, averting Sammy’s eyes. “Well, you didn’t have to be a jerk about it…”

Sammy scoffed. “Oh, grow up. You sound like my niece when she gets told she’s grounded.”

Wally looked annoyed for a moment at the comment, before a sort of realization dawned on his face and he gave Sammy a sly grin. “Ha! Jokes on you Sammy, I CAN’T grow up!” Wally pointed out. “I’ve been twenty-something for over thirty years!”

Sammy went completely silent at that.

Wally’s grin stayed on his face for a few seconds longer before it slowly dropped. “That…uh…that actually wasn’t as funny as I thought it’d be.” He thought aloud.

“No. It really wasn’t.”

“That was…kind of dark, actually.”

“Yes. Yes it was.”

Wally pursed his lips together, his eyes darting left and right, looking as though this had been the most awkward he had ever felt in a long while. Sammy wasn’t too far off from feeling the same way. “Right…” Wally said sheepishly. “…Maybe we should just uh…go?”

“Yeah that’s...yeah.” Sammy agreed. “Kind of what I’ve been trying to do.”

Sammy started walking, Wally soon hurrying after.

“Why did you even have that lever taken out, anyways?” Sammy asked once the awkwardness in the air had cleared.

“I didn’t take it out myself.” Wally explained. “It broke off once and I never had the time to put it back.”

“You had over thirty years to do it!” Sammy exclaimed.

“…Well, I never had the time to find a reason to do so.” Wally shrugged. “There wasn’t really anything up ahead.”

Sammy halted, causing Wally to stop as well. They had reached the end of the hallway and passed that was complete darkness. From the dark, rhythmic sounds of churns and clanks echoed off the walls.

“Well, there was; you just didn’t see it.” Sammy commented. He surveyed his surroundings. “We need a source of light if we want to progress…”

“Here.” Wally piped up. Sammy turned to see Wally now had a big, rectangular flashlight in his hands. “Found this on the desk. I think this thing still works.”

Sammy hadn’t even realized that was a flashlight; it was so big and clunky he thought it was just a back-up battery for a generator or something along those lines. He took it from Wally, observing it for a moment; it had been a while since he saw such an old flashlight. “Thanks,” He finally said as he flipped the switch. There was a brief moment before the light flickered on, the glow showing even more dust particles than there already were. From where they were standing, it faintly illuminated the dark room as well.

“Well, let’s get a move on.” Sammy said, beginning to make his away into the darkness.

“Uh…actually…” Wally began.

Sammy stopped and turned around, seeing that Wally hadn’t moved from his position. He gave Wally an odd look. “Well? You coming?”

“I mean…you sure about going in there?” Wally asked.

“Wally…”

“I mean, I know it’s important and all but there’s probably tons of other routes, right?” Wally rambled.

“Wally.”

“Heck, all of these floorboards are pretty loose. We can just break em off and climb out. That sounds like it’d work. …Well, maybe not. There might be some machines or something above, but-”

“Wally!”

Wally snapped his mouth shut before giving Sammy a forced grin. “Just suggestions. Can never be too safe. Nothing wrong with that, right?”

Sammy gave Wally a look, not buying his reasoning. “Wally, are you scared of the dark?” He asked, to which the former janitor waved his hands dismissively and shook his head.

“W-What? No!” Wally sputtered. “Why would I be scared of the dark? That’s-That’s just…I’m totally not scared. Nope. Not me.”

Sammy’s expression was anything but interested. “Wally no offence, but…you’re really bad at lying.”

Wally stopped his forced grin, slumping his shoulders and letting his hands fall to his sides. “I know…” He mumbled. “I don’t like the dark. I never have. Whenever it gets pitch-black it feels...suff-su…what’s the word?”

“Suffocating?” Sammy guessed.

“Yeah. That.” Wally looked away, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s stupid, I know.”

“Wally…” Sammy began, before letting out a sigh. “…It’s fine if you’re scared of the dark, okay?”

“But…I shouldn’t be scared of the dark. I’m too old for that…” Wally claimed. “Even my siblings think-well, thought-I was overreacting.”

“Wally, you can be scared of the dark at any age.” Sammy pointed out. “My cousin is in his fifties and he’s absolutely terrified of the dark. He even told me once that he didn’t know how anyone could go to sleep without a light source. Believe me: It’s fine.”

Well, his cousin didn’t _actually_ say that to him, but Wally didn’t need to know that.

Wally nodded slowly. “Okay…” It still didn’t seem like he completely agreed just yet, but he managed a small smile nonetheless. “You’re a pretty good motivational speaker when you’re not hating everything, you know that?”

“I must hate everything a lot more often than I thought, then.” Sammy reflected. “Anyways, are you ready to go?”

“…I think so.” Wally finally answered. “Do you think we could uh…do some small-talk, though? It’s Just…I’d feel better talking to someone in the dark then just hearing machines and cogs.”

“Sure.” Sammy nodded. “Honestly I think I’d feel better, too.”

The two began to walk, the flashlight illuminating their way, the sounds of cogs and squeaks like background noise. “Hey, you mentioned earlier that I was like your niece.” Wally brought up. “Allie’s kid, right?”

“Yeah,” Sammy answered. “What about it?”

“I was wondering…what’s Allie and her family like?” Wally inquired.

Sammy paused mid-step, Wally stopping as well.

“I mean, you told me you didn’t have any kids of your own…” Wally began. “…and I told you about my family so…”

“It’s fine, Wally.” Sammy assured. “I’m just…thinking.”

“Thinking what the best way to describe them is?” Wally guessed.

“Precisely.” Sammy nodded. He thought about it for another second. “Let’s see…Allie…well, she’s a lot of things, honestly. She’s got more common sense than I’ll ever have, but she’s also a real worrier.”

“How so?” Wally asked.

“Well, it’s like…if you told her you’d call her when you got to a place and forgot to do so, she’d freak.” Sammy looked back at when he had gone to the bar and neglected to phone Allie, and repressed the urge to groan at his immaturity; that definitely wasn’t one of his proudest moments. “Honestly though, I’m glad she is. My house would probably be in even worse of a state than it already is if she didn’t freak at me for it.”

“What about the others, then?” Wally pressed.

“Patient, I’m getting to that.” Sammy said. “Her spouse is named Adam, and her two kids are April and Jordan.”

“What are they like?”

“Adam’s a good guy. I haven’t really gotten to know him myself, but Allie’s glad she married him, so that’s probably a good thing.” Sammy answered. “Jordan’s only eight, but he seems to get a kick out of bothering others. I can only hope he grows out of it.”

“What about April?”

“April’s thirteen. April…god, she’s just a big ball of energy.” Sammy found himself smiling. “She’s always getting into trouble, unintentional or not. She’s currently grounded for sneaking out while grounded as we speak.”

“Sounds like a handful.” Wally joked.

“She is, but…she’s nice.” Sammy described. “She’s bothersome but not intentionally, and honestly…she’s a riot. I’m surprised Allie actually manages to keep a straight face when she’s lecturing her.” He chuckled softly. “She told me she wanted to be a music writer like me, and she always tries to get me anything related to music.” He addressed his tie. “You can’t see them because of the ink, but the tie she got me has notes on them.”

Wally smiled. “She sounds nice. I think she would’ve got along with my siblings.”

“She would’ve. She can get along with anyone.” He sighed. “I…I honestly don’t know what she sees in me.”

Wally’s smile faltered. “Er…Sammy?”

“I mean, both her and Allie agree I’m no expert in self-care but…she’s always happy to see me, even when she’s poking fun.” Sammy continued. “Then again, she’s probably just excited to see my cat.”

“Sammy?”

“Even when I’m boring her or just being stubborn, she’s…she’s still happy to see me the next day. I…I never really noticed that before now, honestly. I never really appreciated her for always trying to…”

A hand on his arm made him stop talking. He looked up to see Wally had a concerned look on his face.

“Sammy…” Wally began. “You’re crying.”

Confused, Sammy brought his hand to his face and only now realized that his eyes were wet. His confusion quickly began to morph into this horrible, hollow feeling when he registered how truly awful he felt.

“You alright?” Wally asked.

“I’m fine, I’m fine…” Sammy assured, shaking off Wally’s hand and hastily wiping the tears off his face before more could form. “It’s just…I really miss my family right now.”

Wally gave Sammy a reassuring smile, patting him on the back. “It’s okay, Sammy.” He told him. “I know how you feel. You never think about the stuff you never did until you can’t do it. I still regret not taking Michael out to a baseball game.”

Sammy nodded, trying to stop more tears from spilling.

“Besides, if it makes you feel any better, they’ll probably still be the same age when you get out.” Wally pointed out. “You can do all of the stuff you never did.”

That was true. If he got out, his family would probably have remained the same age from when he had left-unless he missed a Birthday or something-and he’d be able to do all of the things he suddenly regretted not doing.

But if Wally got out, he’d never be able to do any of those things. All of his siblings, if they were still around, were all adults and most likely in different parts of the world by now. He wouldn’t be able to take his siblings to places or do things he wished he had done.

And, while Sammy didn’t say it out loud, knowing that just made him feel even worse.  


	30. Chapter 30

“…Well, that’s kind of a problem, isn’t it?”

Sammy sent a quick glare to Wally as if to say _no shit, Sherlock_ before promptly bringing his attention back towards the bulky set of heavy-duty doors they had just came across. Said doors carried more of a resemblance to the entrance of an abandoned funhouse with their crookedness and misalignment than an entrance used in a studio-ironic, considering there was nothing fun about it.

The lack of fun bit wasn’t because he was in the studio-although, let’s be honest, there isn’t really anything to laugh about when you’re stuck in hell-but because of the fact that said set of doors were, unfortunately, electrically powered and unable to open because of it.

Essentially, it was a dead-end.

 “Of course…why not?” Sammy groused, his tone less than optimistic. He pinched the bridge of his nose and grumbled. “I honestly don’t know what I was expecting.”

Wally gave Sammy a reassuring pat on the back-well, at least that’s what Sammy assumed the intention was, but it was a lot more harsher and almost caused him to lose his footing-and grinned at him. “Hey, don’t go giving up completely yet, pal.” Wally beamed. “I’m sure there’s probably some switch tucked away somewhere.”

Sammy huffed. “Yeah, a switch that will most likely take hours to find.”

Wally brushed aside the pessimistic comment, crouching down and feeling the walls for any signs of a switch or button hidden underneath. “Yeah, yeah…gosh, such a grump,” Wally prattled as he continued to look around. “Lighten up a bit, will ya? I swear you’re making the flashlight dim with that mood.”

Sammy felt a sudden twinge of guilt in his chest at that comment.

“Right…sorry.” Sammy apologized, his voice quiet.

He wasn’t sure why he felt that bit of guilt, to be honest; he had received loads of comments similar to that before, whether it be from griping about something particularly bothersome or just from wearing a expression that seemed just the tiniest bit too sour. He should’ve just stubbornly ignored such a quip and rolled his eyes or something along those lines, like he always did.

However, that didn’t seem to be the case. He felt…bad.

Wally paused checking the walls for a moment before starting up again. “Hey…don’t worry about it, Sammy.” Wally assured. “It’s…uh, not really a big deal. I was only messin’ around.” Wally looked around for a few more seconds before snapping his fingers. “Here we are!”

Wally had went for a nearby vent, grabbing it’s cover and lifting it up. “This should do. If I know my stuff-and I do, pal-then I can go through that little duct and just open the door up for ya!”

Sammy went to where Wally was and knelt down to his level, peering inside the passage. It was too dark to see anything, the flashlight not doing much from where he was.

“Huh…kind of dark, though,” Sammy mentioned, picking himself up off the ground which prompted Wally to do the same. “You sure you’re fine with going in there?”

Wally shrugged. “I mean, it ain’t like there are any other options, y’know? I mean, unless the little ‘pry off the ceiling floorboards’ idea I had is still up for grabs-”

“ _Wally_.”

“…Sorry,” Wally apologized. “But yeah…as long as I got that flashlight with me I should be A-okay.”

“Okay well, if you say so…” Sammy handed him the flashlight. “Just don’t be an idiot and get yourself killed.”

“Aw, that right there is the nicest suggestion you’ve ever given me.” He said with a hand over his heart in mock appreciation. “Well, while we're at it, don’t become an even bigger grump while I’m gone.”

Sammy rolled his eyes and let out exasperated huff. “Oh, just go already.”

Wally’s grin only widened. He gave Sammy a poorly done mock salute, his hand hitting the square center of his forehead. “Won’t let you down, chief!”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Wow, Sammy Lawrence knows the magic word! Who’d have thought?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Obviously I know-”

“I know you do.” Wally cut him off. He gave Sammy a small smile. “I’m just messin’ with ya, old man. Don’tcha worry; I’ll get that door opened in a jiffy.”

“Well…” Sammy went to say more but trailed off. “…Right.”

Wally crouched down, shining the flashlight into the abyss-like duct.

“Y’know…” Wally began. “You have kinda changed a bit.”

Sammy wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but he didn’t ask as Wally had already made his way inside the vent and was crawling into the dark by then, the cover sliding down and closing behind him.

As he waited, the sounds of machines deafening now that he was on his own, he folded his arms and scowled.

“I’m not THAT old…”

* * *

 

Deeper inside the studio, where ink floods had taken their toll on the structures, under a broken light which fizzled and flickered occasionally, sat a operating table on one of the only places that still had visible flooring. The slab of faded, rusty metal held a strange ink creature, which squirmed violently against the restraints that held it in place. It let out gurgles and squeaks, occasionally choking and spitting out globs of ink.

The monster wasn’t like the studio workers that had been drowned in ink and tossed aside to roam the halls; this one was short and pudgy, with arms that looked so brittle they’d snap with the slightest touch, and dawned a four-fingered glove on one hand.

In fact, you could almost say it resembled a cartoon character.

…If said cartoon character had been crammed into a wood-chipper and stitched back together by an intoxicated Doctor Frankenstein.

“Oh…you poor thing.” A soft, almost nurturing voice whispered in the darkness.

The monster stopped violently convulsing for a brief second, swinging it’s head in the direction of the voice in a gesture that almost resembled bewilderment. When it saw a almost familiar silhouette in the dark, it’s frantic movements returned and only grew with each second.

“Come on sweetie, I don’t want to hurt you.” The owner of the voice walked towards the convulsing creature, her hands on her hips and her expression one of pity. “If you do that, you’re only hurting yourself.”

When the creature’s movements only grew more frantic as it tried to break free, it’s gaping mouth spitting out even more bits of ink, she let out a sigh. “Fine, but you’re only making this harder for the both of us.”

She walked over to a small table which had a alignment of strange, surgical tools. She picked each one up, examining it. “I’m just trying to help you dear, you know that, right?”

The monster rasped and coughed, growing breathless as it’s repeated attempts of breaking free seemed to be in vain.

“I know you’re scared, honey. I mean, gosh, I know I would be too if I was in your place.” She put a hand over her heart, giving the creature an innocent look. “But let’s be honest. Staying here’s also really scary too, don’t you think?”

The monster let out a raspy noise and proceeded to shake violently when he saw her kneel down and pick up a particularly large, sharp tool.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure it’s better to die young and happy than to live long and suffer. I should know; I’ve been down here for a long, long time. You probably have been down here for awhile, too.” She prattled on. She let out a bubbly giggle. “Look at me, rambling on again. I’m sorry about that, honey.”

She loomed over the monster that, at this point, was too exhausted to fight anymore and just resorted to making loud, gurgling noises.

“Here you are, terrified, and I just kept on talking instead of getting to the point.” She raised the tool, the monster’s noises rising in pitch. “Now that was just cruel.”

The procedure was quick, to be honest; ink splattered everywhere and it made quite a mess, but it was quick. The creature fell unconscious after the very first thwack.

She wiped her forehead and smiled down at the motionless heap before her. It probably didn’t appreciate what she had done, but it when it found itself in heaven, lying in grass under a warm sun instead of drowning in it’s own ink, it definitely would. That thought alone made her feel warm and bubbly inside.

“See? Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”  


	31. Chapter 31

Sammy stared at the massive entrance to the Heavenly Toys Workshop, unable to formulate a proper response to the sight.

Sammy knew that the studio had gotten bigger; I mean, really, that was a definitive fact at this point. It had gone from an average-sized company to a hell-like maze stocked with twisty corridors and doors that led to nothing. There was going to be quite a few things that were unexpected.

However, the flashy and expensive look of the entrance made him stop in his tracks.

Before Sammy had left, the workshop was one of the smaller sections of the studio. The idea of merchandise for Bendy was only just starting up at the time, so the workshop itself was very tiny. It was tucked away in a corner, about six workers cooped up in a room as they carefully painted the features on the dolls with Shaun Flynn being the head of production. They didn’t even have a actual sign back then; just a plank of wood covered in chicken scratch that Shaun had attempted to write in a drunken stupor.

…Boy, did they upgrade.

The entrance looked more like a gaudy toy-store rather than an actual workshop for making toys. The small place that didn’t even have a sign now had it’s name displayed over a giant countertop, a waterfall of ink flowing behind it continuously. There were two giant, old-fashioned model planes hanging from the ceiling, and a bunch of giant Bendy and Boris dolls strewn about. Giant wasn’t a exaggeration, either; some of them were bigger than HIM.

It was large, extravagant, and, more than likely, expensive, which confused him. It wasn’t like the studio was giving tours or inviting schools to bring their students down on field trips-at least not to his knowledge-so why would Joey-cutting-all-the-corners-Drew put so much money into it? Was it to make working here seem like a big deal? Was it to make him seem expensive and huge?

Why was he even questioning this…this was Joey Drew he was thinking about. That man has wasted loads of money on pointless things; a showy entrance was nothing compared to the other things he has wasted money on.

Sammy looked at the walls and it was then he noticed something smaller. Someone had written something on the wall in a curly cursive.

**Try your best, but don’t forget to rest!**

Up until now, all that had been written on the walls were desperate pleas, begging for help and claiming that their creator had lied to them. This cheery rhyme was so out of place with the current situation he was in that it was almost surreal. It was the kind of life advice you’d see on a motivational poster or something along those lines.

That wasn’t the only thing on the walls, either. It appeared that the person who wrote the advice had also decided to do some decorating as they had painted various patterns on the walls in ink. There were swirly flowers, dots, and spirals on the walls, the lines never appearing messy or shaky. They looked smooth, flowing, and careful, as if someone had spent all their time and energy on making them looking as clean and nice as possible.

It looked…pleasant, in an odd way. Maybe Wally wasn’t the only one who kept his sanity in tact…well, that’s what he hoped at least; he definitely wasn’t going to come to conclusions immediately, however.

Sammy went up the flight of stairs on the left side, and noticed even more messages as he went up.

**Everything will be alright!**

**Don’t be scared!**

**Things will get better, just you wait!**

The messages seemed hopeful, like someone who fully believed everything was going to be alright after so long.

He didn’t want to admit it, but those messages kind of eased him. The person who wrote these could very well be a puddle of screeching ink at this point, yet these messages calmed him.

He REALLY hoped that wasn’t a sign that he was going nuts.

Sammy continued on and went through the hall, only to be greeted by a room with shelves stocked full of Alice Angel dolls, the character that inspired the name of the workshop itself. There were a few belts with shelves on them, where Sammy presumed the toys were carried to be shipped off or something along those lines.

Shawn’s actual desk-which was so small and cramped it didn’t even have a chair-sat behind the row of shelves, and Sammy noticed a bowl holding a strangely shaped blob of ink, as well as a cassette tape.

Sliding through a gap between two of the shelves, Sammy observed the bowl and found an ink blob that was…changing shape?

No, he didn’t see it wrong, it was definitely changing shape. It was forming into different objects he had recalled seeing before, like a Bendy doll and the ink machine.

Now that he finally got that it was a blob of ink changing shape…he wasn’t really all that interested, to tell the truth. If he was just out for a walk and someone ran up to him and showed him it, maybe he would be interested, but he had fought transforming puddles and had a conversation with two guys completely made of ink; he had seen crazier things than that.

Now…onto the cassette tape.

He clicked the button and jumped as a loud, angry voice immediately began to echo throughout the room.

**I swear, I’ve had it up to ‘ere with Mr. Drew! Had it!**

**That damn man has the shortest temper I ever lay me eyes on. Loses it at the smallest mistake! Gets angry just because a few Bendy dolls in a row of bloody hundreds have a smile that’s only slightly crooked! Slightly! It’s not like I drew the fellas frowning or something!**

**If he really wants to help me out, he can stop makin’ me paint all of those Alice whatchamacallits. None of e’m be selling anytime soon, I can tell ya that much-**

The audio cut off, more than likely due to not being able to handle the loudness of Shawn’s voice. He was surprised the cassette tape was able to handle that much alone, to be honest.

Sammy had remembered seeing the merchandise in stores, and he knew what Shawn was talking about with the Alice Angel character. While she was quite popular as a novelty item nowadays, hardly anyone bought her character dolls in the beginning. Whenever he passed an isle with the merchandise stocked on it, Alice Angel was usually the character that hardly sold, which he really wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was just him, but he thought she was the least irritating out of the group of characters. The fact that she was the only character that could properly hit a note was probably one of the factors contributing to that, but still.

Sammy slipped through another gap to the door that led further down the workshop. He figured it would just lead to more work stations, what with the workshop being so huge now and all.

He wasn’t sure what to say when he entered what appeared to be a entire room dedicated to Alice Angel.

Dozens of posters of Alice cartoons were plastered on the walls and had several televisions showing her face were strewn about. Alice plush toys and cut-outs littered the floor, some toys having their heads violently ripped off. In the middle was a large booth separated by a glass window, a sign designed like a ribbon with her catchphrase ‘She’s quite a gal!’ hanging over it.

Before he could even comment on the whole thing, the overhead lights flicked off without warning. The only sources of illumination were from tiny lights bolted to the bottom wall, televisions, and dim lights pointed to the sign above the middle booth, all of which flickered spastically. Sammy squinted at the lights and rubbed his eyes, finding a headache growing.

Then, a song began to play.

Sammy paused at the familiar piano and lyrics, looking up at the speakers that hung over him.

“ _…I’ve got a bright little halo and I’m filled with love…_ ”

A cheerful, bubbly little _pop_.

“ _…I’m Alice Angel!_ ”

It was the song Sammy and Jack Fain had worked on for the character when she had first been introduced; he knew Joey was very fond of the piece, but he was surprised Joey actually decided to keep it after he left all the same. He would’ve thought Joey would’ve got rid of anything he worked on so he wouldn’t have had to slap his name on in the end credits.

Sammy looked around as the song continued to play, trying to see if there was anything that resembled an exit.

“Come on, there has to be something…” Sammy muttered under his breath. “Shit, it’s too damn dark here…”

Sammy drew in a startled breath and involuntarily jumped when a light in the center booth clicked on. Sammy turned back to look at the booth, his eyes shifting left and right with suspicion. With hesitation, he walked towards the booth, music still playing.

“ _I ain’t no flapper, I’m a classy dish, and boy, can this girl sing…_ ”

He leaned towards the booth, meticulously observing the inside and seeing nothing. He leaned closer…

“ _This gal can grant your every wish-_ ”

Springing forth from seemingly nowhere, a large, spider-like creature sprung forth and latched to the glass, it’s face pressed against it. Sammy, startled, stumbled back and fell on the floor. He quickly sat up, using his hands as support as he looked at the sight before him. It’s mouth was stitched shut and one of it’s appendages was replaced with large, a razor-like object.

…What the actual fuck was that thing?

“H…He-” Whatever the creature tried to spout to him was cut off by a sudden screech. The lights flicked off as it made a garbled noise. “N…N…”

“There, there…” A familiar voice cooed. “It’ll be all over in just a second.”

It was dark, and Sammy couldn’t see anything, but based upon the sudden onslaught of squishing and slicing and garbled spitting sounds, he didn’t think he wanted to.

Finally, there was a wheeze and a loud splat, and then there was just…nothing for a few seconds. Not even a breath, or a whimper…just nothing.

Then she spoke.

“…Another poor guy trapped down here, huh?” She stated nonchalantly, sighing. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it quick and put you out of your pain.”

She paused for another second.

“…Actually…” She began. “Do I know you? You seem…familiar…”

She made a sudden noise of realization.

“Oh, I think I know who you are!” She chirped. “You’re…actually, I have a idea. Go down the elevator and meet me at my little home! I’ll be able to get a good look then. See ya soon, sweetie!”

Just as she finished talking, all of the lights flicked back on. Sammy breathed heavily, his heart racing. He pushed himself up off the ground, panting as he looked in the booth.

Ink splatter covered the floors of the booth, and both the Spider-like creature and the girl with the familiar voice of Susie Campbell were nowhere to be seen.

Sammy suddenly felt himself breathing a lot heavier. His chest felt heavy, and he began to feel lightheaded.

He took one more look at the booth, just staring at it for a few seconds...

...and then promptly passed out onto the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep a little pep in your step!


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I haven't written in awhile! So...yeah...sorry.  
> I mean, this one is a bit long though so...hopefully that will make up for it.

Sammy opened his eyes, squinting at the unexpected brightness. He grumbled and covered his eyes, shielding himself from the beams of light. His fatigued state and sluggish movements almost instantly dissipated when he groggily attempted to sit up and felt himself slightly sink, familiar squeaks accompanying the motion.

He opened his eyes and immediately felt dread stab it’s needle-like fingers into his heart.

Sammy was back in his bedroom, sunbeams streaming from his windows. There were overdue library books and misplaced music sheets strewn about the floor and his desk covered in Maestro’s fur and sheets the cat had crumbled when she was making herself comfortable. Everything made it seem like what he had underwent was really just a crazy, convoluted nightmare his sleep-deprived, caffeine-craving mind had conjured up.

Except it wasn’t a nightmare, and he wasn’t home; it was very much real, and this was the beginning of a all-too-familiar dream.

“Oh fuck, not this again…even my mind hates me…” Sammy scowled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why am I not surprised?”

That probably sounded like he was just being overdramatic, but at this point, he figured he deserved a pass to be at least a little bit overdramatic after everything he had went through.

Sammy drew his hand back and sighed, grasping the fabric of his comforter out of frustration and cringing at the feeling of realness the fabric between his fingers held. The warmth of the sunlight streaming through the windows and the smell of coffee lingering in the room certainly didn’t help, either. They provided a sense of realness and comfort, as if he was really home and safe even though he wasn’t, and it made him feel sick.

The secure feeling the dream was trying to cajole him into believing was becoming so apparent that at that point he couldn’t take it anymore and rolled up his sleeve, closing his eyes and giving himself a harsh pinch in a attempt to wake himself up.

After a few seconds, he opened his eyes.

Nothing had changed.

He made a frustrative grumble, running his hand through his messy hair. “You’ve got to be…” His words fell flat and he huffed. “There’s got to be something else to wake myself up…”

He closed his eyes once more and began to try imagining he was somewhere else, to see if he could think of something nicer to dream about. He thought of being in a nice, vacant park in the middle of autumn with a grand piano in the center; a quiet and peaceful place he could calm down in before reality decided to smack him in the face.

He opened his eyes after thinking about it for a few minutes, hoping to find himself somewhere he could stand to be in, only to find that…nothing had changed. He was still in the exact same room, feeling sick to his stomach.

“Oh, come on…” Sammy groaned, bringing his palm to his face and letting out an exasperated sigh. “Can you just…not put me through this again?”

After no response to this request,-although it wasn’t like he was expecting one, anyways-Sammy finally willed himself to get out of the bed he was in, feeling a horrible, squirming feeling of unease in his chest when his feet touched the floor and he heard the faint squeak of his floor. It was almost picture-perfect to how it sounded in real-life, in his ACTUAL house.

He decided that changing his clothes in a dream was, more or less, absolutely pointless, so he decided to leave his sleepwear on and, gulping, made his way out of his bedroom.

He peered into the upstairs hallway and surveyed it, looking for anything out of place, anything at all that would cause this false calmness to peel away just as it had the last time he had this dream, but there was…nothing.

The hallway was standard and mundane. It lacked any sort of anomaly that would separate it from his actual upstairs hallway.

As the growing feelings of unease made his heart heavy with dread, Sammy slowly made his way down the stairs. He looked around, examining every room, not just actively searching for anything out of the ordinary but almost…hoping to find something strange, in away. He could feel himself growing more and more frustrated with the complete lack of evidence there was.

At last, Sammy finally got to the dining room, his dusty piano tucked into one of the corners. If that piano caused the catalyst of a horrible nightmare before, then it definitely could warp this place again.

Hesitantly, he sat down at the piano, examining the keys in front of him. His fingers lightly brushed over the keys, Sammy cringing at the feeling. He let out another shaky breath, closing his eyes as he braced himself for whatever nightmare world he was about to endure, and tapped one of the keys of the piano.

A cheerful little ding echoed throughout the dining room.

Sammy, with his eyes still closed, made a confused and disgruntled expression as he opened one of his eyes, looking at the keys.

He pressed another one of the keys, and got almost the same result. The only difference was a change in pitch.

Then he pressed another, and another, and another.

Before long, he had pressed every single key. All were fine and completely in-tune, as they would normally be.

But…they shouldn’t have been working; the interior of the piano was filled with ink and it stopped the hammers from hitting the strings inside the piano. It wasn’t supposed to be working.

Without even thinking twice about it, Sammy stood up and flipped open the lid of the piano and peered into it, hoping to find something to get rid of this sense of normalcy he had.

The interior contained nothing except the parts it was supposed to have. There was no bubbling ink or globs with sunken faces reaching out from the inside of the piano to attempt to attack him. It was normal, and it made Sammy feel SO much worse.

He wanted something out of the ordinary-hell, he NEEDED something out of the ordinary. His house was so picture-perfect to how it was in real life that just telling himself he was dreaming wasn’t cutting it anymore; he needed something so he wouldn’t fall into a false sense of security like last time.

He felt bile rising in his throat from nausea and suppressed it, sitting back down onto the piano bench and letting the wave of nausea pass. Everything felt so out of place and wrong, yet he felt that way because nothing was out of place. It gave him a massive headache just thinking about it. He massaged his forehead, his piano making a light dissonant ring as he gently rested his elbow on the keys to do so.

“This is a dream…” Sammy mumbled the reminder to himself. “I’m dreaming. None of this is real…”

He trailed off.

“…I-I’m dreaming…right?” Sammy heard the disbelief in his voice and practically mentally slapped himself in the face. “Nope, shut up. I’m dreaming. I’m-”

Sammy flinched nervously at the sound of a loud ring coming from another room and couldn’t help but mentally scold himself for jumping at ringing phone of all things. Even now, while the feeling of dread left a nauseous feeling in his stomach, he still felt the need to chastise himself for letting his fears get the better of him.

He felt a familiar feeling of annoyance at the loud, buzzing ring. It was always a distraction and disrupted his focused thoughts when he was in the middle of writing songs. He usually immediately went to pick it up after the first ring so he wouldn’t have to hear it anymore; it just annoyed him that much.

However, this time he was slow going to the phone. It usually stopped after the fourth ring, however the phone continued to do so even after that, spasming and shaking with each ring. Ringing for far much longer than usual was a minor thing out of place, but it gave him a feeling of relief to have a reminder that this was, in fact, a dream.

As the phone continued to lively buzz and shake, Sammy felt himself shaking involuntarily, but he forced the tremors back.

“…It’s just a dream…” Sammy reminded himself.

He picked up the phone at the eleventh ring and placed it to his ear. “…Hello?” He asked into the receiver, his voice barely above a whisper.

There wasn’t a response for a few seconds. Soft static and wheezy breathing were the only things Sammy heard in those seconds. Then…

“…Uncle Sammy?”

Sammy froze. “…April?”  

There was loud sniffling on the other end. “Uncle Sammy, please help…it’s really dark and scary down here…”

_Oh, hell no._

“April, are you alright?” He asked frantically. At that moment, he didn’t care if he was dreaming or not.

“No, I’m not! W-We went to look for you and I checked in the studio…and it’s really bad here!” April explained between hiccups, her sniffling increasing. “There’s monsters and I’m covered in ink and one of them bit me…I wanna go home…”

No, he didn’t want this. He just wanted something to remind him that he was in a dream so he wouldn’t get all comfy and cozy like he had last time. He didn’t want to hear this!

“April, don’t worry. You’ll be fine, okay? You’ll be fine.” Sammy reassured. He didn’t care if it was a figment; that figment sounded too damn much like his niece and he couldn’t handle hearing someone who sounded so much like her suffer. “Where are you?”

“...I…I don’t know.” April replied. “I’m-I’m in a break room, I think? I-I’m hiding. It's like a maze here…”

“If you’re in the break room that means you’re back on the main floor.” Sammy informed her. “You…you can get out of here.”

“B-But there’s a giant monster out there,” April pointed out. “He’s huge! H-He looks like an even scarier version of Be…oh no.”

“April?”

“He…he heard me.” April whispered. “He’s coming down the stairs.”

Sammy felt his breath hitch in his throat when he heard a loud thumping sound. “Go and hide, right now. You’ll be fine, alright? You’ll be okay-”

Sammy’s words were cut short when he heard a soft gasp on the other end of the line.

“…He sees me.” April whispered. “I-I’m sorry, Uncle Sa-”

There was a sudden burst of static and a series of crashing noises on the other end of the line. Sammy strained to hear any sounds or signs of April escaping, but all he could hear was crashing and roaring.

Sammy repeatedly shouted her name into the receiver, desperate for any notion from her that she was okay. Each time he called out her name, the quicker the environment around him started to unravel and peel away, just as it had the first time.

Then, abruptly, the noises stopped.

Sammy paused for a moment at the silence. “…April? Are you al-”

Sammy’s question was cut off by a disgusting squelching noise coming from the phone, and he recoiled back to find ink bubbling out of both ends of the phone, large waterfalls of it falling out and pooling on the floor, soaking his arm in the process.

He quickly jumped back, the whole phone falling off the counter and onto the floor into the ink.

All he could do was stare at the floor as the ink continued to poor out of the phone, the phone beginning to make loud gurgles layered with static as the ink covered every bare part of the floor. He felt himself shake but this time didn’t try to force himself to stop doing so.

He didn’t want to hear that. He…he didn’t want to hear someone he cared about get killed! He just asked for a reminder that he was dreaming; he didn’t ask to experience his worst fears imaginable!

He felt absolutely sick and disgusted, holding himself as his shaking only worsened. He scrunched his eyes shut as the ink pooled at his feet, unable to bring himself to look at it.

“Please just wake up…” He whispered. “Please…wake up…wake up...”

* * *

 

“Wake up!”

Sammy jolted up into a sitting position, putting his hand over his chest as he practically gulped every breath he took. He let out a series of coughs, curling in on himself in an attempt to lessen the pain of his racing heart.

“Hey, hey, hey!” He heard what sounded like Wally. “Easy now, it’s alright pal.”

Sammy saw Wally in his peripheral vision. He was crouched down and his head was slightly tilted as he gave Sammy a look that was a mixture of both concern and confusion. “Gosh, you’re shakin’ like a leaf.” Wally commented.

“Thank you, C-Captain Obvious.” Sammy stammered out of exhaustion, his retort barely having any bite because of it.

“Hey now, don’t strain yourself.” Wally placed a hand on his shoulder in an attempt of comfort. “Come on now, deep breaths.”

“I’m fine.”

Wally sighed. “Come on Sammy, don’t be-”

“Shut up! I said I’m fine!” Sammy snapped, causing the former janitor to flinch. He sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “I…I’m fine, okay? I’m…I’m fine.”

Wally gave the man a look for a few seconds, before huffing. “Alright, you’re fine.” He stood up and offered the musician a hand, which he accepted despite his state.

“Just…just don’t worry. I’m…I’m fine.” Sammy repeated, breathing heavily.

“Yeah, sure, okay.” Wally said. “You’re fine. We’ve established that.”

“It was just a dream…it won’t happen.” Sammy mumbled to himself.

“Wha?” Wally gave Sammy an odd look.

“N-Nothing.” Sammy dismissed. “I’m-”

“Let me guess; you’re fine?” Wally finished.

“…yeah.”

_I’m fine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...that was kind of a downer, huh?


	33. Chapter 33

“So…you saw Susie, huh?” Wally asked, although the comment sounded more like a statement than an inquiry. They had made their way out

Sammy replied with an affirmative hum before saying, “Well, to be honest I didn’t really see her-I heard her, really.”

_What was left of her, anyways._

Sammy felt immediate guilt after thinking such a horrible thing, having the strong desire to slap himself in the face.

“…and you’re takin’ her up on her little ‘meeting’ offer?” Wally pressed. “Even after the straight-up operating theatre she performed right in front of you?”

Sammy remained quiet for a few more moments before sighing. “It’s not like I have much of a choice,” He shrugged. “And…and I need to see her. I just…I want to make sure she’s okay.”

Wally gave him an expression he couldn’t really read before folding his arms. “Pal, after what you saw her do, don’t you think you already have your answer?”

Sammy averted Wally’s gaze, unable to respond to the inquiry and instead deciding to remain silent. He knew Wally was right, but even so, he just couldn’t bring himself to admit it.

Wally stared at him for a few more seconds before exhaling softly. “Fine, we’ll go down.” The man agreed. “You might as well take this.”

Wally tossed an object in Sammy’s direction that he hadn’t noticed Wally had before, Sammy quickly catching it in his hands and examining it to realize that it was a piece of a blunt, rusty metal pipe.

“Found some broken pipe pieces lying about while I went looking for ya and figured they were better than nothing.” Wally explained. “It’s not much, but they say the pipe is mightier than the sword, so…” He shrugged. “…Yeah.”

“It’s ‘the pen is mightier than the sword’, idiot.”

Wally crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “Right, cause’ I’m sure a metal tube filled with ink is gonna be SUCH a big help in this situation.” Wally replied with a unusual amount of sarcasm. He gave the side of his head a few light taps with his knuckles. “Really using your noggin there, Sammy.”

Sammy immediately felt himself growing defensive and went to retort, but found he was unable to respond to the statement and closed his mouth. “…Fair enough,” He said after a few seconds. “Let’s just continue on.

Sammy and Wally continued walking down the hallway once more. The hallway they were walking down was surprisingly long, to the point where Sammy couldn’t even make out what was at the end of it. He could make out two vague pathways, but that was about it.

They were halfway down the hall before Wally piped up again. “So uh…Sammy.”

“What?” Sammy replied absentmindedly.

“You ever gonna actually talk about your problems or…?”

Sammy stopped mid-step, causing Wally to bump into him. He stepped back just as Sammy turned to face the former janitor, giving him a puzzled look.

“What are you talking about?” Sammy asked, even though he already had a bit of an idea on what Wally was addressing.

Wally let out a exasperate huff. “Come ON, Sammy. I know you think I’m an idiot but I’m not THAT stupid.” Wally stated. “I know every time you say you’re fine you aren’t.”

Sammy had wanted to stubbornly insist that he actually WAS, in fact, fine, but instead, those words caused a sudden feeling of anger in his chest and words spilled out before he could cease them. “So?” He replied. “Why do you care?”

The moment Sammy asked that he felt immediate regret. Wally stared at him in shock, surprised that Sammy would’ve even asked such a question. “Why do I-are you serious, Sammy?” Wally marched towards him and gave Sammy a sharp poke in the center of his chest. “I care, because, even if you treat me like this studio’s version of the village idiot, you’re still my pal.” Another sharp poke. “I care, because maybe, just maybe, I don’t like seeing my friend struggling and bottling up all of his emotions. Ever thought of that?”

Despite Sammy’s regret for the previous comment, he still shoved Wally’s hand away as his stubborn side resurfaced. “Have you ever considered that maybe I just don’t want to talk about how I feel?” Sammy snapped.

“Well, have you ever considered the amazing idea that talking about your problems and getting them off your chest is healthy and will, wait for it, make you feel better?” Wally made an explosion sound with his mouth and put his hands up. “I know, mind-blowing idea, right?”

“You’re not my fucking therapist,” Sammy cursed. “You shouldn’t-”

“I might as well be your therapist!” Wally interrupted. He threw his hands up in the air. “Who knows? Maybe then you’d actually bother to TALK to me, instead of telling me you’re fine even when I saw you crying in your sleep just now-”

“I-I wasn’t crying in my sleep.” Sammy faltered. “I’m fine. I was-”

“See? There you go again, telling me you’re fine when you clearly aren’t!” Wally pinched the bridge of his nose, grumbling. “Christ’s sake, and you say I’M bad at lying-”

“I’m-I’m not lying-”

“Look, you and I both know this place is freaking ya out. Why won’t you just admit it?” Wally persisted. “It’s not that hard! Heck, I’d be more concerned if you WEREN’T going crazy from all of the problems hurdled your way-”

Sammy cut him off. “Just shut up! It shouldn’t matter if I’m feeling like this! You’ve gone through ten times worse!”

Wally went to shout a response but faltered, a small noise coming out and dying just as quickly. He stared at Sammy for a second, and then his white pupils slowly widened, as if he was only just registering what Sammy had told him.

“I just-it shouldn’t matter how I’M feeling.” Sammy continued on, his tone now only showing tiredness. Whatever fire igniting his anger had burnt out as quickly as it had started, not even smouldering at this point. “You’ve suffered here for over thirty years and you probably won’t even get to see your siblings again.”

Wally stared at Sammy, a blank expression on his face.

“…Sammy,” Wally began. “Just because I’ve been here longer doesn’t mean you ain’t allowed to complain. You know that, right?”

“It’s…It’s not just that, either.” Sammy whispered, hoping Wally wouldn’t hear it. Unfortunately for him, he did.

“What else is it, then?” Wally asked calmly.

“I…” Sammy swallowed his pride. It felt like there was an anvil on his chest and he could barely breathe, and he just couldn’t take feeling this way anymore. “It…it feels like I’m going just as insane as everything else here. I’ve been having nightmares and they’re just…horrible. The one I just had I…” He felt his voice crack and swallowed heavily, refusing to appear weak. “…I listened to my niece get murdered and I…I couldn’t do any…”

His voice cracked again, and this time he couldn’t stop tears from forming and starting to spill.

“Goddamn it, I hate this stupid fucking studio.” He muttered as he tried to rub away the tears with his arm. “It feels like I’m losing it and it’s…it’s…”

“…scary,” Wally finished. “It’s scary.”

“It…It is.” Sammy nodded. “It really fucking is.”

He leaned against the wall, sliding to the ground. He wrapped his arms around his knees and sighed shakily. “I…I just want to go home.”

There was a shuffling sound, and Sammy looked to see that Wally had decided to sit down next to him. The two sat there in silence for a few minutes, the only noises being the creaks of the studio and Sammy’s shallow breathing, until Wally decided to speak up again.

“I get how you feel, Sammy.” Wally began. “I really do. I miss my family and they’ve aged for sure, but that doesn’t mean ya can’t miss your own family, and you’re not a wimp for missing e’m, either.”

Sammy didn’t say anything as Wally continued.

“Just…stop saying you’re fine when you’re not, okay?” He pleaded. “I hate seeing you go through that. Let’s be honest: Telling yourself you’re perfectly fine while being here is the thing that’s ACTUALLY crazy.”

Sammy sighed. “…okay.”

“Thank you.”

Awkward, tense silence once more, leaving the air as thick as blood.

“…My library fees must be massive.”

…and just like that, Wally broke the tension with a few, simple words.

Sammy Lawrence never thought he’d end up guffawing in the middle of this studio, let alone a serious moment such as this, but he did, and all because of Wally making a comment about the fees of his overdue library books, at that.

Maybe it was because he needed to hear something light-hearted, maybe it was the absurdity of it all, or maybe it was just because he hadn’t expected such a simple comment after such a complicated conversation, but nevertheless, Sammy Lawrence laughed.

His laugh seemed to be contagious too, as Wally joined soon after.

“This is just…so stupid…” Sammy wheezed, holding his sides. “I fucking hate you, Wally.”

Wally snorted as he laughed. “You’re welcome.” He managed out.

They calmed down not too long after. Wally wiped some tears from his eyes. “Man, if I told my younger self I’d make you laugh as loud as THIS, he would of told me to get outta here.”

Sammy turned to him, a small smile still on his face despite his annoyed tone. “Just shut up about that, will you? Christ, I’m not a grouch 24/7, Wally.”

“I know; that’s why I said my _past_ self.” Wally explained. He shrugged in a carefree manner. “I know now you’re only a grouch 90% of the time. The other 10% of the time you ain’t that bad, really.”

“Thank you,” Sammy deadpanned. “Never in my life has anyone said anything as nice as that.”

Wally snorted. “Make that 90% grouch, 5% sarcastic, and 5% alright guy, I guess.” Wally listed, chuckling at Sammy’s exasperation. After his little fit of giggles was over, he noticed Sammy was looking the other way and gave him a tap on the shoulder. “Hey, Sammy?”

Sammy turned back to him. “What?” He asked.

“I know I’ve been here a long time but…I still think there’s a chance I can get outta here.” Wally replied. “A lot of folks here kind of lost any hope on escaping, but I haven’t.”

“My point is,” Wally continued. “When I get out, I know what the first thing I’ll do is.”

“Go to a hospital?” Sammy piped up, earning him a smack on the shoulder from Wally.

“Aside from that!” Wally retorted. “When I get out, AFTER a visit to the hospital-” Sammy snickered at that. “-I want to go to some sunflower fields.”

“Sunflower fields?” Sammy titled his head.

“You see, when I was with my siblings, we’d always go to these massive sunflower fields whenever we could and pick sunflower seeds.” Wally described. He looked off into space as a smile began to creep up on his face; the memories were obviously happy ones. “There was this one right close to our house. It probably belonged to someone but we named it after Lucy, anyways.”

He sighed happily. “When I get out, I want to go there. If I ever see my family up there, after some much needed explaining, I’ll get all of them to come with me to the fields just like old times.” Wally smiled another moment before snapping out of it. “Wow, sorry pal; rambled quite a bit there.”

“No, you didn’t.” Sammy demurred. “That was tame compared to how you normally are.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Besides…” Sammy muttered softly. “It…sounds nice.”

He had hoped what he had said was barely audible, but apparently it wasn’t as Wally heard it as clear as day.

“You think so?” Wally chirped. “I didn’t think ‘nice’ was in your vocabulary!”

“Oh for the love of…” Sammy trailed off into a grumble before barking at Wally, “Yes! I think it is a nice idea! I am capable of pleasant thoughts!”

Wally ignored Sammy’s irritation, beginning to speak excitedly again. “You know, you should come with me!” Wally suggested. “If I find any of my family, we can all go there! You can be our grouchy uncle!”

“What-Wally, I live in _New York_ _city_ ,” Sammy stressed. “After all of this is over, I’m going back home; back to a demanding job too, mind you.”

“I’m sure they’d give you a few weeks break, at least.” Wally pointed out. “And if that doesn’t work out, just take an early vacation-actually, what month is it?”

“I’m pretty sure I haven’t been down here for an entire month, so March.” Sammy answered.

“Yeah, so just take an early vacation!” Wally exclaimed. “It’ll be fun!”

“Wally, I…” Sammy trailed off. Wally was looking at him like a goddamn child, excitedly grinning and waiting for his answer. Sammy rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine, I’ll go with you and your family to a sunflower patch if you find them.”

“Great!” Wally chirped. “Even if I don’t find them, I’ll still send you some sunflower seeds in the mail.”

“Wally, why would you-you know what? Forget it. Do whatever you want, I don’t care.”

Wally wrapped his arm around Sammy’s shoulder and gave him a one-armed hug. Sammy didn’t shove him away, but he didn’t hug back; he just sat there uncomfortably as the ink fumes increased his nausea.  “Nice! Hey, we should make a list of things I need to do. How does that sound?”

“Calm down Wally; let's actually start moving again, first.”

* * *

 

“Oh…that’s sweet.”

She had been watching them, even though they hadn’t realized it. She couldn’t help but feel herself choke up; she hadn’t seen anything like this in quite a long time.

The angel hummed softly to herself, tapping her fingers against the wood of an old rail. She smiled as she continued to hum, her voice sweet and flowing, like a spoonful of caramel.

But then, she frowned.

“…yet, so delusional.” She whispered. “It’s…it’s so sad.”

There was a soft gurgle, and she looked down and smiled. One of her ink searchers had came to visit, it seemed.

“Ah, hello dear.” She greeted, kneeling down. “How are you? Did you send anyone to heaven?”

The searcher let out a gurgled screech, ink spitting out from it’s jaws.

The angel smiled, as if she understood what it had told her. “Very good.” She complimented. She titled her head to the side. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to heaven, dear? Dying would be much easier.”

The searcher let out another garbled, however more nervous scream and shook violently.

She giggled. “My oh my, I guess you really love working with me, huh deary? I’m surprised you’re passing up the chance to leave this dreadful place. You really are a trooper.”

The searcher probably didn’t even register most of the things she was saying, but she didn’t mind. It was still helping her; in fact, a lot of them were. She originally was going to bring them to heaven too, but for some odd reason they didn’t want that; now they just helped her instead.

The searcher made another garbled noise, only this time it sounded a bit confused.

“Oh? Well, he seemed very familiar.” She explained. “I can’t help but think I’ve heard his name before.”

Another garbled sound.

“Well, the other one seems familiar too, now that I think about it.” She sighed. “Poor soul, so delusional. It’s quite interesting he’s kept such a form, though. Would you agree?”

A garbled sound.

“Oh? Right, silly me!” She chirped. “Of course, here’s your payment.”

She passed the searcher a strange, pulsating objecting. It greedily snatched it, immediately chomping down.

“There we go!” She smiled. “How are you feeling? Do you feel more whole?”

The creature garbled, coughing violently.

“Y…Yes…”

That was all it could manage before it derived into gurgles once more.

Trying to become whole was such a difficult and painful process; it was one of the reasons she just wanted to put these creatures out of their misery to begin with, however the searchers that wished to stay alive agreed to help her in return for anything that could make them become more whole.

It was somewhat sad, really.

“That’s good, dear.” She smiled. “Hopefully by next time you will remember your name.”

The searcher wandered off, leaving the angel alone. She swore the name Sammy sounded familiar, but she just couldn’t but her finger on it…

Oh well, after she got a better look at him she could put him out of his misery, as well as his friend. There was no point in keeping them…

Just as the angel was thinking this, she looked around and came to the sudden realization of how low on parts for payments she was. If she didn’t find enough parts soon, the Searchers would begin to turn on her, and the only spots with the most parts had… _him_.

She thought about it, and smiled.

Maybe they _would_ be useful after all.    


	34. Chapter 34

“Okay, so going on a rollercoaster is DEFINITELY going on the list,” Wally proclaimed. “They’re probably WAY better nowadays, right?”

The two had been walking down the hallway, Wally making a list of all the things he wanted to do, just as he said he would. So far, most of the things Wally had checked off were the kind of things an excited child would want to do over their summer break. The things he had listed were the following; to make sure he’d try every ice-cream flavour at least once, to get himself a dog; preferably a beagle mix, to go to a beach he saw in a old postcard, and of course, to go on a rollercoaster.     

Sammy shrugged at Wally’s question. “I haven’t been to an amusement park since I was eighteen so I wouldn’t really know, but I assume they would be.” He answered.

“Since you were eighteen?” Wally gave him an astonished look. “How could you not go to amusement park for that long? They’re…well…amusing!”

“They’re also disorienting.” Sammy replied. “I absolutely cannot stand feeling dizzy and not being able to think straight.”

“Well if you can’t stand it just sit down.” Wally countered, earning him a light smack upside the head. He chuckled in response, fixing his cap and tucking some of the inky tuffs of hair back into it. “Okay I’ll admit: I deserved that one.”

“Yes. Yes you did.” Sammy stated. He looked up ahead, and cocked his head. “The hell?”

The hallway appeared to divide at the end, the two passageways being showcased equally unsettling and making Sammy’s skin crawl. The one on the left side had the label ‘Demon’s Dominion’ scrawled onto it in messy writing that was one step away from being illegible chicken scratch, while the other had ‘Angel’s Alter’ written in the curly cursive Sammy had seen written on the walls of the Heavenly Toys’ entrance.

The two’s eyes darted back and forth between the two options for a good few seconds before Wally spoke, his pointer finger up.

“Right one?”

“Right one.” Sammy concurred.

The moment the two began to make their way to the right pathway, Wally winced as machinery came to life, a roll-up door neither the two had noticed before coming down and blocking the left side’s entrance. Wally glanced over to the left side and shrugged. “Guess there’s no turning back now.”

“I mean, were we even really planning on doing that?”

 “I mean…fair enough,” Wally replied with an uncertain expression.

The two entered a small hallway, Alice Angel cut-outs leaning on the walls and a few posters of some of her first cartoons taped onto the walls as well. There was a drawer and a couch directly across from it, and both pieces of furniture were equally dusty. Sammy looked to the side and saw more of the curly, loopy writing.

**Dreams come true. Don’t forget that!**

Sammy turned away from the writing, sighing heavily. After that heavy conversation he had in the hallway, thinking about such a nice person going through hell was the last thing he wanted to think of.

“Hey, Sammy!” Wally called out. Sammy turned to see that Wally was kneeling down in front of the couch, jabbing his thumb towards a cassette tape. “Found something!”

Sammy walked over just as Wally pressed the play button on the tape. It started up, and the voice of Susie Campbell proceeded to echo throughout the room.

The audio Sammy had discovered of her before showed her to be perky and optimistic about spending time in the studio. However here, she sounded so much more depressed and disheartened, occasionally sniffles throughout the audio.

**I…I don’t know where I went wrong. I really don’t.**

**Was it because Joey noticed I didn’t think he was trustworthy? Is that why he gave my part to Allison Pendle? It has to be…**

**I loved being Alice…I know it’s not the best here, but I just…I loved playing Alice. She made my career soar; each line was just…something special.**

**Allison’s a really sweet person, too, so I can’t even be mad at her for taking my roll. Sometimes I wish she was nasty so I would have a good reason to be angry at her…**

**…No, that’s wrong of me to say. It’s not her fault. I shouldn’t blame her for this.**

The tape’s whirrs came to a sudden halt, and the cassette shut off with a resounding click.

The tape left the room in an uncomfortable quietness, the only sound being a nervous gulp from Wally. Sammy stared at the splintered floor, finding himself unable to bring his head up. He had been the one to fill Susie’s head with doubt. If he hadn’t…

Sammy felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Wally giving him a sympathetic look.

“Hey it’s not your fault, just so you know.” Wally assured. “Joey’s the nutcase here. That man woulda her hurt even if ya didn’t convince her to doubt him.”

Sammy glanced towards the cassette, knowing that Wally was right; Joey would’ve done something horrible whether or not Susie doubted him. Sammy let out a huff. “...Right.” He answered. “…I still wish I did more convincing to get her out of the studio, though.”

“Hey, what about me?” Wally asked, addressing himself. “Don’t I matter?”

Sammy chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Please, you were the one that claimed you’d leave the studio every second day.” He pointed out.

Wally sheepishly laughed. “Eh, ya got me there.” Wally admitted. “I don’t seem like the kinda guy that would need that much convincing.”

The two started walking once more, making their way out of the small spot and going into a musty, narrow hallway. It was cramped, and was made even more so by the multiple pipes for the ink machine placed about. Sammy found it to be obnoxiously suffocating, to say the least.

“Why DIDN’T you quit, anyways?” Sammy inquired, opting for small talk to take his mind away from the irritation. “I mean, you said you’d quit literally all of the time. Why’d you never go through with it?”

“Well, I kind of needed it.” Wally replied, sheepishly smiling. “Those claims were sort of a…‘in the moment’ kind of thing. After I’d make them I’d remember that honeybees had a better chance of finding work than I did, so I stuck around.”

“That makes sense.” Sammy agreed. “That was one of the reasons I stuck with the studio as long as I did.”

“Wish I actually DID quit when I had the chance, though.” Wally confessed. “If I knew this would happen I would definitely have gotten outta here.”

“Literally everyone would’ve left if they knew what Joey’s plan was.” Sammy stated. He felt a stream of liquid, more than likely ink, fall onto his head as he walked and he sighed. “Stupid shitty pipes…”

Wally simply shrugged it off as they reached the end of the hallway. “I mean, this is Joey Drew,” He prattled as he twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open. “He’s definitely more of a quantity over quality kinda guy-”

Wally’s rambling was cut short with a loud ‘eep’ when a hideous deformed monster reared it’s ugly head from behind a corner, it’s jaw agape revealing it’s disturbing, human-like teeth.

It gave the shocked two a strange look, tilting it’s head to look like it was…confused, in a way. Then, it made a gargled wheezed and opened it’s mouth wide, letting out a shriek.

It slumped away from the rest of the corner, revealing the rest of it’s strange, short and pudgy body, and began dragging it’s broken feet towards them.

“What the FUCK is that!?” Sammy demanded. He clutched the pipe tightly to himself, ready to swing and defend himself.

“I don’t know!” Wally answered, trying to put as much distance between him and the creature as possible.

Sammy cursed as the thing advanced closer to them, raising up the pipe and ready to strike the damn thing.

Then…it collapsed.

Just like that; it collapsed. There wasn’t any fighting or a flurry of attacks or anything of the like. The creature simply dragged it’s feet across the floor for a bit, and then it collapsed to the ground, letting out a exhale of breath as it did.

It lay there on the ground for a few seconds, motionless, before it melted into the floor, leaving no trace it was even there. The bits of ink sunk in-between the floorboards, and that was that.

Sammy and Wally both stared at the spot the creature had just been, completely and, pardon the pun, utterly floored.

Eventually, Wally looked up. “Uh…well, that was a close one, huh?”

Sammy shrugged. “…Sure, let’s just call it that.”  


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, guess who finally uploaded after way too long? That's right, this individual!  
> Sorry about the wait; was really busy.

Wally made a sideways glance towards the now barren floorboards, before shifting his eyes back to where Sammy was. “…Okay, so…” Wally began, scratching the back of his neck. “…That was weird, right? Like, it ain’t just me-that was freaky.”

Sammy shook his head. “No, it’s not just you.” He assured. “I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but…”

He glanced at the floorboards.

“…That wasn’t one of them.” He finished.

“Okay, well as long as we have that established.” Wally replied.  He once more addressed the floor that the remains of the disfigured anomaly had sunken into, pondering. “What do you think that was all about?”

“I’m not sure…” Sammy answered. “It looked pretty torn up, but considering Joey’s twisted psyche, it probably always looked like that.”

“Eh, now that you mention it, it DID look pretty wobbly and weak.” Wally recalled. “Probably trying to escape from…well, something.”

“Have any idea on what that ‘something’ might be?” Sammy inquired.

Wally paused for at the question, thinking about it with a thoughtful hum.

“If I had to guess…” Wally pondered. “…Probably something made out of ink.”

Sammy let out a huff at the simplistic response, rolling his eyes. “Looks like there’s only one way we’re going to find out.” He stated. He took a few, slow and careful steps forwards.

Sammy peered around the corner, observing the path with mild surprise. It was, unsurprisingly, a state, like the rest of the studio. The left side of the walls was covered in smeared, inky handprints; more than likely from that disfigured monster trying to drag itself away. The only thing that caused Sammy’s eyebrows to raise was the fact that the door to the other room had been completely ripped off it’s hinges, now laying on the ground and covered in splintery scratch marks.

Wally suddenly poked his head out from behind the corner as well, his inky hair getting in Sammy’s face as he had decided to stick his head out right underneath Sammy’s own. “See anything?” Wally asked.

Sammy sighed, pushing Wally’s face out of the way, to which he moved in compliance. “No.” He answered, addressing the busted door. “Just your typical one-star-Joey-Drew-experience, where everything is broken.”

“Geez, talk about a mess…” Wally quipped. “You think whatever did that wandered off by now?”

Sammy huffed as he walked over the door. “Hopefully,” he replied. He suddenly froze and put his pointer finger up just as Wally was about to speak, silencing him. “If you state my pessimistic view of this situation in the form of ‘But you’re never hopeful, Sammy’, I will literally kill you.”

Wally rolled his eyes, swatting Sammy’s finger away. “No need to bring out fancy words.” He muttered. “Besides, I wasn’t even going to say that.”

“Uh huh,” Sammy replied sarcastically as he resumed walking. “And what was that?””

“What I was ACTUALLY going to say was…”

Sammy felt his foot sink into a thick liquid with a loud squelch. He looked down, seeing his foot in a deep, black puddle that reached his ankle.

“…Watch out for that ink puddle directly in front of you.” Wally finished, grinning slyly.

Sammy exhaled with an exasperated groan, yanking his foot out of the ink puddle and stepping onto a spot that was somewhat drier. “Fuck’s sake.” He cursed, grimacing as he felt the ink slosh in his shoes. He yanked his shoe off, cringing at the amount of ink dripping out of it. “Every damn time…”

Wally waved off Sammy’s griping with a shrug, bringing his attention to the toys that lined the shelves of the room.

“Hey Sammy, check it out.” Wally beckoned, pointing towards some of the toys. “Some of these Bendy dolls have seen better days.”

“Everything here has seen better days,” Sammy, who was in the process of getting his shoe back on his foot, replied.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” said Wally. “Look at the Bendy ones in particular.”

Sammy went over and leaned towards the display, realizing what Wally meant. The dolls of the other characters were at least in one piece, but both the big and small Bendy ones looked like they had been viciously torn into, seams torn out and stuffing torn out of their tiny fabric stomachs. It was unsettling, even if they were only inanimate objects.

“Geez, and I thought the original dolls were creepy…” Wally muttered. He stepped back from the shelf, shuddering. “Whoever did that must REALLY have it out for that demon.”

“That could be anyone in the studio, then.”

“Yep.” Wally nodded. “Though I’d probably throw darts at mine if I had one.”

Sammy took a look around the room. “…The workshop really grew after I left, huh?”

“Uh huh,” Wally nodded. “Joey even ran out of funding for it and tried to pay the workers in merchandise left in the warehouse once.” He chuckled. “....A couple of people quit after that.”

“Unsurprising, for Joey.” Sammy commented.

“Yep,” Wally agreed. “Wish I agreed to that particular payment method at least once, though.” He addressed the large, stuffed Borises lined up against the other side of the wall. “I mean, those look pretty comfy, to be honest.”

“Y…Yes.”

Wally gave Sammy a skeptical look. “You okay, Sammy? You sound hoarse.”

“Wally…that wasn’t me.” Sammy said, slowly.

Wally went quiet, a blank expression on his face. “…What?”

“…Com…Comfy…w…warm.”

Sammy gave Wally a disturbed expression. _What the fuck, Wally?_ He mouthed.

 _I don’t know!_ Wally mouthed back, clearly just as uncomfortable and confused as he was.

_Should we go up?_

_What? I didn’t get that._

_Should. We. Go. Up?_

_I don’t know. Should we?_

_I asked you first, Wally!_

“M…Miss…warmth…” The voice whispered out, hoarse and pitiful.

Sammy gave Wally a disgruntled look and sighed, finally deciding to take a step forwards. He held the pipe close to his side, ready to swing if he had to.

“…Hello?” Sammy called out, taking a couple more steps forwards.

There was a moment of quietness; tense, strenuous quietness, and then, there was a sudden cacophony of sliding and scratching noises, like something was dragging itself across the floor. The noise grew louder, ever painstaking, slow and agonizing smack against the splintered floor making Sammy’s heart beat even louder. The noise reached it’s peak when one of the mutations, similar to the ones Sammy had encountered in the music department, emerged from behind one of the shelves.

Unlike the others, however, it didn’t attack. Instead, it let out a raspy wheeze, and _spoke_.

“H…Hell…o.” It rasped. “Y…You…a…are e-” It let out a sharp, harsh-sounding cough and spit out a disgusting glob of ink onto the floor, then continued. “....you…are expected.

 _Holy shit_.

It could TALK. Granted it’s voice was raspy and words occasionally followed up with hacking ups of ink, but still, these things could actually fucking SPEAK.

Wally seemed just as astonished, clearly never witnessing this before either. He let out a jumble of squeaks, unable to form a sentence. “Eh...it…how…”

“Mi…ss Angel…wishes to in…vite you; …both o…f y…ou, to her ho…me.” The creature informed. “I…I will…guide you.”

“You…uh…you…” Wally stuttered like a broken record player.

“How? Wait, why-no-” There were so many questions Sammy wanted to ask, but he didn’t know where to start.

“L…Later.” The creature shushed. “…H…Hurts…to…talk. Y…You are…a guest…that’s…all. Fo…llow.”

Wally finally snapped out of his state of being a stuttering mess to ask a question. “Wait, hold on a second there, buddy! What if we decline, huh?”

The creature paused for a moment, glancing up at Wally briefly, before letting out a dark, hoarse laugh.

“… _You don’t have a choice_.”


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the month of spooks and making yourself sick from eating too much chocolate! The HORROR!  
> Anyways, hope you enjoy the recent chapter!

Down through the corridors, the hulking mass of ink pulled itself across the ground, it’s misshapen, asymmetric fingers clawing at the floorboards as it dragged itself forward. Sammy and Wally followed the mass with hesitance, trying to keep a relative space between them and the creature.

The two walked in silence, the tension one of the factors that encouraged them to keep their traps shut. The two occasionally gave each other worried looks, neither of them sure of what they should do.

Eventually, Wally leaned over to Sammy’s ear, cupping his hand around the side of his mouth so their inky tour guide wouldn’t hear them. “Should we still follow this guy?” Wally whispered.

Sammy didn’t answer at first. While it was true that they had already been planning on visiting Susie-or Alice as she seemed to be referred to as nowadays-already, the sight of a creature that should’ve been mindless but was not only talking but doing her bidding as well left him weary. Eventually, he huffed and whispered back, “Who’s to say this isn’t the only one? She might have dozens of these at her fingertips.”

“He’s…quite right.”

Sammy and Wally both stopped in their tracks as the creature rasped, it’s neck craned towards them as it spoke, ink dripping down it’s eyes and dribbling out of its mouth. How had it even managed to hear them?

“She…has many…at her-” It cut off violently with a loud hack, spitting ink out of it’s mouth. It let out a shaky wheeze, before continuing it’s speech. “…At her disposal. Trying to leave….wouldn’t be…wise.”

Wally gulped nervously, while Sammy felt his heart speed up at the thought of getting attacked by dozens of creatures similar to the one guiding them. The idea of being surrounded by hundreds, unable to fend them off as they ganged up on him and sunk their claws into his shoulders and pulled him down into the pits of ink with them...that was something he _definitely_ didn’t want to go through.

“Now…I suggest you…continue to…follow me…” The pained creature wheezed.

“Wait!” Wally called out, causing the creature to slowly turn back to look at him. “Who…who are you? What are you?”

The creature was silent for a moment. “…I…I don’t know who I am.” It finally answered. “…Not…not anymore, at least. I used to be…someone…but now…I am…nothing…but another Searcher.”

“Another Searcher?” Sammy gave it a strange look. “Is that what you call yourselves?”

It took another gulp of stale air, before nodding. Wally tilted his head to the side like a confused German-shepherd. “What exactly are you searching for?” Wally asked.

“It…varies.” The Searcher answered.

The two could only give each other an odd look at the Searcher’s response.

“Now…come along.” It beckoned. “We…mustn’t keep…Miss Alice waiting.”

With that, the blob of ink proceeded to drag itself across the ground once more, Sammy and Wally giving each other another look before proceeding to follow the Searcher once more. Larger splotches of ink appeared next to the sides the further they went down the corridor. In his peripheral vision, Sammy could catch a glimpse of top of some of the searcher’s heads, before they quickly slunk back into their puddles when they realized they were noticed.

Then came the whispers.

They were small and weak, but so abundant they could not go unnoticed; like how a single fire-ant wouldn’t do much, but thousands of them at once would more than certainly kill you. They came from the puddles, some clear while others were completely unintelligible.

“ _Carry the fourth and the fifth-_ ”

“ _Has anyone seen my daughter-_ ”

 “ _Pointless is the quarry where we forget why we’re fighting-_ ”

 “ _So many numbers, yet so small the numbers left._ ”

“ _Songs that never play, voices that never sing-_ ”

Sammy shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead, desperately trying to block out the whispers. They weren’t even fully constructed sentences or pleas-they were more like fragments or passing thoughts of broken people-but the fact that they weren’t even able to properly call out for help made it so much worse.

Wally winced, moving closer to Sammy and away from the puddles. He seemed to be just as, if not more, disturbed by the whispering as Sammy was. “S-So uh…pal.” Wally called out to the Searcher, in an attempt to block out the frantic broken whispers of those that still remained in the puddles. “How…how exactly can you speak?”

“How can you?” The Searcher replied.

Wally seemed taken aback by the response. “Er…I open my mouth and words come out?” He answered.

“Then…you’ve answered that…question…yourself.” It rasped.

Wally huffed at the snarky response it gave him, folding his arms. “Okay wise-guy, let’s try that again; how are you ABLE to speak?” Wally rephrased. “I’ve met plenty of guys with a similar…er…” Wally gestured vaguely. “…Physique to you, and they can barely get a wheeze out, let alone a sentence.”

The Searcher was quiet for a moment, taking a wheezy gulp of stale air. Sammy couldn’t help but find the sight sickening. The fact that it hurt just to breathe for this amalgamation of ink and human was horrid.

“Miss Alice is…most kind…” The Searcher finally rasped out. “Gives us parts…makes us more…whole. Helps us…remember…the things we forgot.”

Wally thought about it for a few seconds. “So…you help her, she helps you?”

“Pretty...much…” The Searcher agreed. “No…more questions…for now…hurts too much.”

Sammy felt himself growing sick when it said that.

_I’m going to kill Joey._

They were quiet once more, and now Sammy could once again hear the whispers coming from puddles, the noise now even more desperate and sickening.

“ _Did I do something wrong why am I here-_ ”

“ _It’s in my eyes why is it in my eyes-_ ”

“ _Everything burns but it’s so cold why why why-_ ”

“Who are you?”

Sammy froze at the question, loud and distinct and in no way was it part of the collection of whispers. He slowly turned, and saw a Searcher lurking in the puddle, staring at them with what seemed to be confusion and envy. Unlike the one that guided them, this one seemed to be more whole, with a less distinct rasp present in it’s voice. Once it seemed to realize that Sammy was staring at it, it allowed more of itself to emerge from the puddle, repeating the question. “Who are you?”

The Searcher that was guiding them turned to the one in the puddle. “These are…Miss Alice’s guests.” It answered. “I…am escorting them.”

The one in the puddle continued to stare up at the two ‘guests’ with a blank expression. Wally gulped nervously, giving it a small wave. “Uh…hi?” He greeted. “It’s…nice to meet you-”

“How?”

Wally faltered at the question, his fake smile slightly dropping. “Huh?”

“How are you so whole?” It asked.

“Uh…” Wally gave a nervous chuckle, taking a small step back. “What do you mean, pal? Take it easy, now.”

“How, how, how, how…” The Searcher repeated, growing more and more agitated each time it did so.

Finally, with a wrathful cry, it pulled itself out of it’s inky puddle. Unlike the other ones, however, it didn’t try to attack Sammy; it immediately launched itself towards Wally.

“HOW!? HOW ARE YOU SO WHOLE!?” It screamed. It’s screech was painful and violent, the kind that would make any person instantly lose their voice from doing. It was filled with such _hate_ , each word venomous with it’s envy at Wally for just existing.

Wally jumped back in response to this creature’s hate-filled attack, Sammy stepping in front of him. He held the pipe with both hands in a desperate attempt at a shield, trying to hold back the vengeful being. It smacked and bit at the pipe, trying to rip it away from Sammy’s hands.

Eventually it hit Sammy with a forceful shove, and Sammy found himself getting shoved into Wally before falling down onto the floor, Wally following suite.

He let out a grunt, grabbing the pipe and holding it tightly to him, Wally’s back against the wall as he hid behind him. Wally grasped Sammy’s shoulders as he peered out from behind him, shaking violently.

“YOU HAVE NO RIGHT! YOU DON’T DESERVE IT!” The Searcher screamed as it proceeded to launch itself at Wally once more. “I DESERVE MY NAME! I DESERVE MY MEMORIES!”

Sammy scrunched his eyes and shoved the pipe forwards, feeling it sink into the inky mass of the attacker. He opened his eyes just in time to see the pipe get yanked from his hands as the Searcher pulled back, letting out a garbled screech as it did. Still, the action didn’t seem to do enough. It merely slowed it down.

“I…I’ll kill you.” It rasped out, yanking the pipe out of it’s chest with a horrible squelching sound and tossing it aside, leaving a gaping hole where it’s heart was suppose to be. “I don’t care if Miss Alice doesn’t like it. You have no right…you have no-”

The Searcher let out a garbled noise as the pipe that it had just tossed aside was lodged into the side of it’s head by the other Searcher. It went right through it’s head, looking almost like a cheesy Halloween get-up than a actual killing move. It let out a pitiful noise, swaying to the side for a moment, before promptly hitting the ground with a sickening thud, it’s eyes hollow and mouth agape.

The Searcher let out a sigh as it watched the other dissolve into the floor, leaving bits and chunks of thick ink behind.

“…Such…a shame…” It whispered. “…They were so…close to remembering…their name, too.”


	37. Chapter 37

Sammy found himself breathless, unable to pry his eyes away from the small remains of what had just tried to kill his friend. He could hear Wally’s shaky breathing behind him, still peering from behind Sammy as if the Searcher that had tried to attack him was still there. Sammy could feel him trembling, clearly still unsure of whether or not the danger would return.

That Searcher had been vicious. It had been filled with unbridled hate at Wally just for the simple act of existing. It’s attacks hadn’t been like the ones he had encountered in the Music Department, where they simply attacked mindlessly without thought or provocation; this one was fuelled on whatever envy it was able to feel in it’s shattered state. It had been dead-set on killing Wally for something beyond his control, and despite that fact, Sammy still couldn’t muster up enough anger to full on hate the attacker.

Oh, don’t get him wrong, he wasn’t exactly pleased at that thing for it’s attempt to outright murder Wally, but even still, he couldn’t help but feel bad for the Searcher. That thing had once been human. It could’ve been someone they knew in the past, someone that had a family they loved, and now they couldn’t even remember their own name, forced to wander countless halls that all looked the same as they desperately tried to find pieces and parts of themselves so they could remember more. He couldn’t help but see where that poor soul’s rage had come from, even if said rage had more than definitely been misplaced.

The Searcher that had killed it’s companion, the one that had been guiding them from the start, let out a wheezy croak. “I’m…sorry…about…all of this.” It rasped out. “They always were…rather envious…of others…more whole than them.”

Sammy huffed. “It’s-It’s fine.” He assured the Searcher. He looked over his shoulder, Wally still behind him. “Are you okay, Wally-”

Without warning Sammy found himself getting pulled into a hug. At first, he didn’t even register what was happening. He was just about to ask Wally what was going on when he heard a choked sob and realization dawned on him, the question falling flat as he let out a ‘…oh’ instead.

He was quiet for a moment as he heard Wally’s shaky breaths and hiccups, unsure of how to respond or how to comfort him. He had never seen Wally as frightened, as _scared_ as he was now, and he didn’t know how to ease the terror Wally was feeling when he himself had no idea how to quell his own.

Eventually, Sammy decided that at least doing something was better than nothing, and returned the hug, giving him a reassuring pat on the back for good measure. “Hey, it’s…it’s alright, Wally.” He told him. “…It’s…It’s okay.”

He heard Wally sniffle. “I-I know…” He replied. “It’s just…I know it sounds stupid, but I really thought that thing was going to k-kill me...”

“It’s not stupid,” Sammy demurred. “I got panic attacks from dreams, remember? Dreams can’t even hurt you.”

“I…It’s like my life just flashed before my eyes…” Wally trailed off into a weak chuckle. “…A large chunk of it w-was kind of boring…”

He sighed shakily. “But…when it did…I thought about all of my family…and how…how I was going to miss the only chance I had to ever see e’m again.”

Sammy felt Wally’s grip tighten.

“…I really don’t want to miss that chance, Sammy.”

“You’re not going to,” Sammy assured. He pulled back, giving Wally a serious look, his pointer finger up for emphasis. “We’re both getting out of here. We’ll get rid of whatever weird curse Joey put on the studio, we’ll get out of this godforsaken place, and we’ll find whatever information we can about your family when we’re out.”

“How are we even gonna get rid of whatever’s making this place a living nightmare?” Wally asked.

Sammy faltered for a moment at the question. It was true that he hadn’t the faintest clue of what had made the studio the way it was-let alone the way to stop it-but even so, he wasn’t about to simply dismiss the possibility that the answer lurked somewhere in the studio. The studio was a huge building. It was suffocating yet large, filled with twisted hallways and locked doors, and he had a hunch the answer was there behind one of those doors.

“…I…don’t know how…but we’re going to figure it out.” Sammy finally answered. “Or at the very least, we’ll sure as hell try to.”

Wally went quiet for a moment at that statement, giving Sammy an unreadable expression. Then, a grin slowly crept onto his face. “Wow, Sammy the Grouch is being optimistic for once?”

Sammy chuckled. “Shut up,” He responded with a small smile of his own, no bark whatsoever in his retort.

“Gotta say, I like it when you decide to be motivational.” Wally commented, pushing himself off the floor. “For someone who’s usually grouchy, you’re pretty darn good at it.”

Sammy pushed himself up off the floor as well, absentmindedly brushing the dust off his clothes. “If that’s really the case then I wish I followed my own advice, then,” He replied, earning him a snicker from Wally. “We better keep on going. Su-” He cut himself off when he remembered one of her followers was still right next to him. “-Alice might know more about this than either of us. We just might be able to get some answers.”

“Sounds like a plan!” Wally concurred. “A frightening plan, but still, a plan!” Wally glanced down to the Searcher with a smile. “Sorry about the uh…delay, buddy. We’re ready to keep on moving!”

The Searcher remained silent.

Wally faltered slightly. “Uh…buddy?”

“So…much…hope.” The Searcher whispered.

It continued, staring at the wall, averting eye contact with either of them. It seemed as if it was lost in a whimsical moment, swaying back and forth like blades of grass in the wind as it made a thoughtful humming sound.

“So…much…belief,” It stated. “Moving forwards…striving…hoping…that you will…free yourselves.”

The Searcher suddenly went rigid-as rigid as it could’ve, anyways- and finally looked up at the two without any expression.

“It will be your downfall.”

With that, the Searcher reared it’s head away from them. It looked up towards the remainder of the corridor and took a gulp of air before it began dragging it’s deformed body across the floor one more, beckoning Wally and Sammy to continue follow it.

“Well…” Wally said with a frown. He crossed his arms with a loud huff. “Talk about a killjoy.”

* * *

When Sammy still worked at the studios and had to go to lower levels, he had always made sure to _never_ use the elevators Joey had installed. Despite Thomas Connor’s attempts at maintaining them, Joey cut so many corner for the elevators that there was always something wrong with them. They were incredibly unsafe; looking as if their cables would snap apart any minute, the unfortunate person who just so happened to be in there finding themselves plummeting to their demise.

Yet there it was, the elevator, still around after over thirty years of rot and decay, looking about as bad as it had back then.

The Searcher turned it’s head towards the elevator entrance, before turning back to Sammy and Wally. “Through…here…” It wheezed, hacking up a chunk of ink soon after.

“Er…pal…you sure?” Wally asked. “Those aren’t exactly…safe, you know?”

“You will…be fine…” The Searcher insisted. “We…shouldn’t…keep her…waiting.”

Wally made another nervous glance towards the elevator, before sighing and bringing his attention back to the Searcher. “Fine…but if that crashes and we die don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

Sammy and Wally walked into the elevator, the two of them immediately cringing when they heard the familiar broken squeaks it’s floor made, as if any minute it would collapse from underneath them and they would plummet to the ground. The Searcher soon managed to drag itself in as well.

“Press…level…nine…” It wheezed.

The elevator shook for a brief moment after Sammy pushed the button, and the gates around the elevator slowly began to automatically shut.

“ _The two of you are…something, I’ll be honest._ "

Sammy’s head shot up, frantically looking around until he finally noticed the speakers installed in the elevator.

 “ _I know I’ve seen you, but…I just can’t remember. Not quite yet, at least._ ” The woman let out a soft sigh. “ _Maybe I will soon…I hope we got along…happy reunions are the most marvelous thing._ ”

“…Susie.” Sammy whispered softly.

“ _I’m not sure why you came here to this studio._ ” She continued on. “ _It’s certainly not the best place to be visit. I usually don’t have guests, if I’m honest…usually I just send them to Heaven so their happy and warm forever…_ ”

“ _But…I’m sorry to say that I can’t do that…not yet, at least._ ” She explained. “ _You see...I need some help…and I think you might be able to assist. I’ll discuss everything in more detail later, of course._ ”

There was a soft, bubbly giggle.

“ _I look forward to meeting you…well, meeting you again, I should say._ ” She giggled. “ _It’ll be wonderful._ ”

With that, the speakers abruptly cut off, the elevator slowly coming to a stop as it reached it’s destination.


	38. Chapter 38

Sammy was scared.

He didn’t want to admit it, but he was _terrified_. He had tried to prepare himself for when he saw what had become of Susie, that sweet young girl with a dream to touch the hearts of children and adults alike through the screen with her voice. But when she spoke through those worn speakers, when she reminisced of memories that were just out of her grasp, he only then recognized how reluctant he truly was to go through with it.

Susie was such a charming girl. She had came to the studio with a smile on her face, and no matter how absurd or thoughtless Joey was when it came to running the studio, that smile never wavered. Even when Joey had her redo lines until her voice went hoarse, or when Sammy was being more of a grouch than he usually was, she still tried to stay optimistic. She was the type of person that you’d wish there more of, because you feel that the world would be a better place if there were more people like her, the kind of people who try to help others off the ground rather than shove their faces deeper into the asphalt.

She had deserved _so_ much better. She didn’t deserve to be broken, trapped deep down in this wicked studio with her memory in fragments, twisted into a sick monster made by an even sicker man. She deserved a life of happiness with a soaring career, bringing her dream to full bloom as she gave each role her all.

That’s why he couldn’t stand the thought of seeing her face-to-face now. He didn’t want to go and just find a tortured-shell of someone who once was, to hear such familiar words coming from someone so different, and he couldn’t even bear to imagine how the ink had left her, how mangled it had affected her both mentally and physically. He didn’t want to see her barely able to hold herself together, twisted and looking way worse than he could have ever imagined her to be-

“Sammy?”

Sammy blinked, realizing that he had been staring at the floor of the elevator. He looked up from the ground to see Wally with a troubled expression.  “We….We’re here.” He said, addressing the floor they had just arrived on.

“R-Right…” Sammy replied hastily, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hey, are you alright?” Wally inquired.

“I’m fi-” Sammy stopped himself from finishing the rest of his default response. He made a disgruntled face, before eventually sighing with a slouch accompanying it, swallowing his pride. “…I’m…not fine. I’m…nervous…about seeing her.”

“I just…” Sammy let out an exhale as he shuddered. “I…I don’t want to go and see…see what’s left of h-her-”

He felt his voice crack and reflexively swallowed it down. _Damn it, pull yourself together,_ he told himself. After another moment, he continued. “I…It’s not a pleasant thought.”

Wally gave him a sympathetic smile, putting his hand on his shoulder. “Hey, I get it pal. This whole thing isn’t exactly my cup of tea, either.” He empathized. “But it’s something we gotta face sooner or later. You might as well get it off your chest now, right?”

Sammy’s gaze drifted to the side for a moment. Although he was rather content with the idea of just wasting away in the elevator and not confronting his fears, he knew Wally had a point. Besides, it wasn’t as if the Searcher with them would allow him to do that, anyways. As it had mentioned, they really didn’t have a choice in the matter of seeing Susie. “Right,” he finally agreed with a huff. “Let’s go.”

Sammy stepped out after the Searcher had, surveying his surroundings. Poorly constructed bulky pipes hung over him, blobs of ink occasionally leaking through. He could hear what sounded like a nervous wheeze from the Searcher when a giant drop of it nearly touched it.

“Who…who are they?”

Sammy felt Wally instinctively grab his arm, a small squeak accompanying the movement. They couldn’t see the Searcher, as it was down the stairs and in a place where the floor above it obstructed their vision, but Wally was still clearly nervous about nearly getting mauled again, even if they were out of the reach of this one’s slimy hands this time; not that he blamed him for feeling that way, of course.

“Miss…Alice’s…guests…” The Searcher who had been guiding them answered.

Silence.

“…Ah…I see…” It hummed. “Well…I must get back to…work…”

Wally’s grip on Sammy’s arm went lax as he let out a sigh of relief, but Sammy was anything but calm.

He knew that voice.

Sammy pulled away from Wally and hurriedly rushed to the railing, peering over it. The sight made his grip on the railing tighten to the point where he could feel splinters in his palms. He made a choking noise, his pupils shrinking as he could hear the voice of denial in his mind try to make up a variety of excuses as to what he was seeing, but there was no mistaking it.

The voice. The bowler hat.

The large, hulking ink mass that was bigger than any of the other Searchers they had seen, the one that was hunched over ink splotched paper as it made garbled hums to itself, was none other than what was left of _Jack Fain_.

“Is…Is that…?” Wally trailed off.

Sammy merely gave Wally an affirmative hum in response.

“But…I thought he quit.” Wally recalled.

“He did.” Sammy stated.

“Then…how-”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

This didn’t make any sense. Jack had arrived at Wishful Works three months after Sammy had gotten employed there. He remembered Jack telling him over their lunch-break how he had tried, but he just couldn’t write lyrics for Clef Jameson’s music.

_“I’ve been in this business for years, but just trying to think up a single word for that guy’s pieces is like me trying to fix a leaky roof,” he recalled Jack telling him, taking a sip of coffee and giving Sammy a smile. “Can’t do either.”_

Jack had worked there for two more years until he eventually moved back to Chicago, his hometown, so he could work and still be with his family. The two had written letters back and forth for a little while after, but they eventually came to a sudden halt when Jack just simply…stopped replying. He had figured the man had probably either lost contact or was just swamped with work and could never find the time to sit down and write up a response.

The fact that the reason why he hadn’t been able to respond was because he had been stuck down here as a mutation of bubbling ink made no sense; he had moved to Chicago and avoided whatever experiment Joey had decided to perform on his coworkers. He shouldn’t be in the studio, lurking in the darkness in pain.

Sammy found himself taking cautioned steps down the stairs to the hunched figure, who was in the process of writing something illegible on the paper with the ink dripping from his own finger, leaving blotchy prints on the paper behind as he did. “…Jack?”

He looked up, and Sammy nearly recoiled. The ink on his face was so thick and plenteous that it made his face sag and drip, leaving him with a complexion that could be only described as something akin to melting skin. “…Jack? Who’s…Jack?” He inquired. The small hint of Jack’s tone under the garbled distortion was enough to erase any denial that Sammy had been keeping with him; that, as much as he didn’t want to believe it, this _was_ Jack.

When Sammy didn’t answer, Jack brought a finger up and pointed at himself. He attempted to look up at Sammy, ink dripping down his chin in globs. “Am…am I…Jack?” He asked. “Is…Is that…my name?”

Sammy gulped, trying to swallow the feeling of bile rising in his throat. “…Y-Yeah,” He answered with a fake smile that he could barely hold together. “That’s…that’s your name.”

“Oh…” Jack made a garbled noise of gratitude, and even through the thick ink Sammy could still make out a small smile. “Thank you, stranger…it’s nice…to know my name…”

Sammy had to hold himself back from asking a million questions, reminding himself that his memory was more or less nonexistent, and opted for a single one instead. “What happened to you, Jack?” He asked, crouching down to meet his broken friend’s eye-level.

Jack made a small noise, slowly bringing his hand up to his face and touching his forehead. His fingers sunk into the ink with a small but noticeable squelch. “I…don’t…know.” He answered. “I heard…a song…and then I…woke…up. I…hurt. Everything…hurt. A…nice angel…Miss Alice…made me feel better. She…was crying. She told me I…couldn’t leave here…not anymore. I don’t know why but…”

Globs of ink dripped out of where Jack’s eyes were supposed to be, and his form began to tremble.

“I felt…really bad…hearing that…”

Sammy winced, immediately regretful for asking. “Hey, hey…” He shushed. “It’s…It’s okay, Jack. It’s okay.”

“Want…to remember...but can’t.” He whimpered. “Want to…go home, but…don’t know…where home is…”

“I know…” Sammy said with a sigh. “I know you do…”

“ _It’s a sin, isn’t it_?”

Sammy’s head shot up at Susie’s voice. He got up from the ground, glancing up at the speakers that her voice protruded from.

“ _That poor man…he was just like you once, but then his dying body succumbed to the ink_. _Now, he’s in nothing but fragments._ ” Susie reminisced with a sigh. “ _It’s a fate I wouldn’t wish upon anyone._ ”

“ _Come along now, please_.” She continued. “ _Let-Jack, was it?-write his songs in peace._ ”

Sammy gave Jack one more guilty look at his trembling form, before huffing. “I’m…sorry, Jack.” He eventually told him, pushing himself off the floor. He gave Wally a tired look. “Let’s just go, Wally.”

“U-Uh…yeah.” Wally blinked. “Let’s…go.”

Sammy couldn’t help but glance back as they made their way to the set of metal doors that led to the next room. Jack had stopped trembling and had gone back to writing on the paper, letting out garbled hums.

“ _Oh, by the way…_ ” Susie piped up as Sammy pulled the lever and the doors began to open. “ _Mind the mess._ ”


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writer's block poisoned my water, killed my crops and delivered a plague onto my house.

“Oh…oh my god…”

Wally shared a similar reaction to Sammy, staring at the gruesome sight with an equal amount of shock and disgust etched on his face. Wally eventually scrunched up his eyes and cupped his palm over his mouth, making a gagging noise as he turned away from the onslaught of gut-churning visuals. “I think I’m gonna be sick…” He groaned.

The sight was truly sickening. Strapped to upright operating tables we’re corpses of ink creatures, some of which carried a similar resemblance to the one that Sammy and Wally had encountered. They hung limply from their restraints, their heads lolling to the side with slack jaws. The tables they were strapped onto seemed to prevent them from melting and slinking back down into the floors, so both their remains and the injuries that killed them we’re displayed for everyone to see.

They had all met their demise in a similar manner; head cracked or bashed in, more than likely with one of the tools lined up on the tables next to them. Whatever their interior facial structure was made of seemed to have been unable to handle such blunt force, as certain sides of their faces were either caved-in or just missing entirely, replaced with ink splatter on the operating table instead.

Sammy couldn’t pry his eyes away from the carnage. It was like witnessing a train crashing and burning; a sight that made you sick to your stomach and stabbed your heart with a sense of overwhelming dread, but a sight you just couldn’t look away from nonetheless. He had witnessed many things in the studio that were nothing short of grotesque, but this sight seemed to be one of the most appalling, even if the remains resembled mutilated cartoon characters more than actual people.

“ _I’m sorry, I know it’s quite untidy...certainly not a pleasant sight when you’re on your way to visit an Angel._ ” Susie apologized, finally snapping Sammy out of his state. Her voice protruded from the speakers, sweet and flowing. It was such a massive contrast to the sight before them that it was almost absurd. “ _You have to understand that there are a lot of poor souls down here that need my help, and I rarely have guests. Sometimes I just…forget to clean up after I free them._ ”

Sammy involuntarily gagged, swallowing the bile he felt rising in his throat in disgust.

“ _Please, just ignore those for the time being, will you?_ ” She requested with a sigh. “ _I promise I’ll take care of them later._ ”

Wally’s head jerked up at that. “I-Ignore?” He repeated the word with an incredulous expression, turning to Sammy in disbelief. “H-How are we supposed to ignore…” He gestured towards the bodies, a violent shudder accompanying it. “…W-Whatever this is!? This isn’t just some mess! This is a slaughterhouse!”

Sammy heard a loud hiss and then a yelp, and turned to see that their guide was practically _reeling_ into Wally, it’s expression morphed into one of fury.

“Do…Do _not_ insult Miss…Miss Alice!” It wheezed, sounding like someone that had just thrown out their voice from an angry tirade. Wally took a step back as the offended Searcher took a raspy breath to continue it’s wheezy tirade. “She…she has…done more for us…than you…could ever comprehend!”

Sammy took a step forward out of preparation as it seemed to grow more agitated. He was ready to pull it away from Wally if it tried anything, but a soft sigh from the speakers stopped the Searcher in it’s tracks.

“ _It’s alright, my dear._ ” She assured. “ _He’s been through a lot, just like the rest of us. Give him time; he’ll understand eventually._ ”

The Searcher faltered, looking down at the floor for a moment.

“I…yes…of course.” It muttered tiredly, clearly worn from it’s small fit of anger. Slowly, he looked up towards Wally and let out a worn exhale. “I’m…sorry…for my actions…let’s…continue on…”

Wally made a noise of confusion, trying to speak only for each word to fall flat as he stammered. “W-Wha-that’s-wait, what?” Wally fumbled out. “That’s-that’s it? Are we just gonna act like that never happ-”

Sammy slapped his hand over Wally’s mouth, Wally making a muffled noise when he did. “Yes, you’re right. You’re absolutely right.” Sammy concurred hastily, before Wally could shove his hand away. “It was…uh…wrong of us…to insult her. My friend has learned his lesson. W-We’re ready to put all of this behind us.”

He glanced to Wally, who was currently giving him muffled noises of confusion, and mustered up a false smile. “Right, Wally?” He asked, raising his eyebrows with a desperate look in his eyes, the kind that said _please just play along, for the love of god_.

Thankfully it seemed that Wally got the memo. His eyes widened for a brief moment as he read Sammy’s expression, before he grudgingly made a muffled noise of agreement.

Sammy pulled his hand away, turning back to the Searcher and nervously smiling at it. “See? H-He agrees. No need to get violent or anything. No reason whatsoever.” He assured, wanting to slap himself for the small stutter that managed to surface.

The Searcher, however, seemed satisfied with Sammy’s statement, and made a pleased humming noise. “Ah…I’m glad…you understand. I can see why…Miss Alice…chose you…” It prattled, seeming to finally be, at least for now, content with the two of them. It seemed to convulse with anticipation, giddily beckoning the two to continue following it. “Come now…it’s almost time to see her!”

Excited, the Searcher began to slither across the floor, expecting the two to follow it without any other queries. The moment it was far enough away, Sammy gave Wally a swift whack upside the head.

Wally made a noise of surprise and pain, quickly going to rub the side of his head. “Ow…” He mumbled. “What the heck was that fo’, Sammy?”

“You know EXACTLY what that was for.” Sammy muttered angrily. “Don’t go trying to start fights with these guys!”

Wally looked at Sammy incredulously. “Me?” His expression shifted to one of irritation. “They were the one that started shouting at me.”

“I don’t care who started it. You kept on trying to argue with them after they told you to drop it. If I hadn’t stepped in-”

“Christ’s sakes Sammy, you sound like my pops right now.” Wally muttered, rolling his eyes.

Sammy resisted the urge to raise his voice and instead devolved into a series of grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose as he felt a headache creeping up. “Look, we don’t have anything to defend ourselves with right now, alright?” Sammy explained. “If these guys want us to agree with them…we have to play along.”

“Even if they want to sacrifice us?” Wally whispered in astonishment.

“Jesus Christ…obviously there’s going to be some fucking exceptions, Wally.” Sammy whispered back. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger and exhaled. “Just…if they want us to ignore these…” Sammy felt himself gag at the word. “…Corpses…we have to ignore them.”

There was a soft, bubbly gurgle from afar, and Sammy looked up to see the Searcher tilting it’s head in confusion.

“Co…Coming?” It called out, straining whatever vocal chords it had just to make it’s query audible for the two.

Sammy hurriedly waved back with a look of false assurance. “Of course!” He replied. “Just one moment!”

Sammy swiftly turned back to Wally, his façade dropping. “I know it’s fucked up, but we’re more likely to have another Searcher attack us if we don’t.” Sammy explained hastily.

Wally visibly flinched at the recalling of the earlier incident. He turned away, going quiet for a moment. His face went through many expressions in the small span of time he thought about it, but eventually his expression softened as he let out a huff. “…Fine.” He agreed. “I don’t like any of this, but neither do you, so…fine.”

Before Sammy could even respond, Wally spun around to face the Searcher and put on a huge, fake grin.

“Okay, pal!” He called out, a chipper tone laced in his voice. “Sorry for the wait! We’re ready to see er…Miss Alice!”

The Searcher brightened, making cheerful gurgles and then immediately delving into a coughing fit from them and hacking up a glob of ink the process.

Wally took a deep breath. “Okay…” He whispered. “We can do this…we can do this…just imagine there’s nothing there, no bodies…nothing…”

Despite the ‘we’, Sammy could tell the chant Wally was making more for himself than it was for the two of them.

They slowly began to walk across the wooden boards that made their path, Sammy feeling his heart quicken with each step they took to the approaching operating tables. A creature, similar to the spider one he had witnessed in that strange room dedicated to the Angel, hung limply from one of them. The razor-like object that jutted out from it’s body had been ripped right out of it’s shoulder socket, leaving a stump near it’s shoulder that blood-ink-dripped out of. It hadn’t rotted, yet the grime and filth of the studio left an illusion of festering among it’s tattered body. He felt nauseous just seeing the sight. It was sickening.

Sammy finally tore his eyes away from it, his heart pounding out of his chest. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, and every time he tried to swallow the lump in his throat it felt like he was swallowing a handful of rusty nails.

_Ignore it, ignore it…don’t get sick…_

He glanced to Wally, trying to see how he himself was holding up, and noticed that he had taken his cap off and was holding to himself.

“What are you doing?” Sammy asked.

Wally shrugged. “It’s respectful.”

Sammy felt like dry-heaving by the time they had finally reached the end of the room. He wasn’t use to seeing those creatures’…remains. They had always melted away seconds after they died, with nothing but a brief image in the mind remaining. Being able to see and process every cut and detail of their injuries made it all the more repellent, and left an image that was practically scorched into his brain.

However, he swallowed down the lump in his throat when he made eye-contact with the Searcher, and forced himself to appear calm.

The Searcher motioned towards the bulky set of doors that had begun to slowly open. The Searcher turned to the two, it’s whole body seeming to shudder with excitement.

“It’s time…” It spoke.

Both Wally and Sammy glanced towards each other, sharing similar feelings of uneasiness as the Searcher begun to make garbled giggles.

“It’s time.” The Searcher repeated. It’s giggles rose in volume, beginning to sound more and more like a person gargling on mouthwash and less like a joyful laugh. “It’s time…oh it’s time!”

It let out a high-pitched gargle, choking on the ink bubbling in it’s mouth and spitting it out. It quickly recovered in mere seconds, beginning to drag itself across the floor with what seemed to be the all the energy it could muster in it’s weak, unstable frame. “Come!” It urged. “Follow!”

By the time Sammy and Wally had walked through the doors, the Searcher had already reared a corner, now out of sight.

Sammy was about to use this brief moment to drop his calm façade and release the feelings of stress and terror he had bottled up during it, when he heard her.

“Good job, sweetheart! You followed everything to the letter!”

He froze up, going as brittle as ice at the sound of her praises. It sounded so genuine; so identical to the Susie he had known so many years ago, that it almost sparked a cruel feeling of hope in his chest.

He found himself walking, slowly rearing the corner. Down the hallway were to figures; the Searcher and a pale figure facing away from them, touched down to meet it’s gaze, a head of long black hair with crooked horns sticking out from either side.

“Does…does this mean…?” He could hear the Searcher ask.

“Of course, dear!” He heard her reply.

She pulled an object out of one of the pockets of her dress. Sammy squinted, just making out what seemed to be a pulsating blob of ink, almost resembling a human heart. He made a puzzled expression at the scene as he approached the room. He watched as the Searcher took it with repeated thanks, wondering why it hadn’t gotten so excited over such a strange-and, in his opinion, gross-object.

The Searcher cradled it in it’s hands with breaths of excitement. Slowly, it brought it closer to it’s face, smiling as wide as the ink covering it would allow it to.

Then, it unhinged it’s jaws, revealing it’s wide, gaping maw, and _chomped_ into it.

Sammy recoiled at the sight, as did Wally. It tore into it like a starving man, greedily slurping and feasting into the object. With each gulp, it quickly tore off another piece, swallowing it whole and then repeating.

“What the fuck.” Sammy whispered, glancing over to Wally.

“I don’t know, I don’t know…” Wally repeated under his breath, trying to cover his eyes with his cap so he couldn’t see the sight.

Finally, the Searcher finished it’s feast. She finally stood up, her back still facing the two.

“Things are…clearer…” The Searcher began, it’s voice suddenly much less garbled than before. “And…it doesn’t hurt! It doesn’t hurt to speak!”

“That’s amazing, sweetie!” She chirped. “I’m proud of you.”

“I…think my name started with an R…but I’m not sure.” The Searcher pondered. “When do you think I’ll remember my full name, Miss Alice?”

“I think you’ll remember soon, dear.” She assured. “Why don’t you go rest? You’ve certainly earned it.”

“Of course!” It agreed. “Thank you, Miss Alice!”

Wally and Sammy both stepped out of the way as the Searcher glided past them with an ‘excuse me’, disappearing from view.

“…It’s so sad, isn’t it?”

Sammy turned back to Susie, her back still facing them.

“How…easy this ink makes us forget everything…” She spoke. “…I wonder what life was like for me?”

Sammy reached out. “…Su-”

“Ah, that’s not what I brought you two here for though, is it?” She giggled. “Sorry. I often get lost in thought. Let me formally introduce myself.”

She turned around with a smile, revealing the true damage of her face.

“I’m Alice Angel. You’re ticket to ascension!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took awhile. I had a hard time writing this chapter but I hope it turned out well.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, happy new years!  
> It's hard to believe that it's been over a year since I started this story, and I'm so happy for the incredible amount of support all of you have given me.  
> My updating for this story tends to be rather sporadic, as I usually work on it when I 'feel' like doing so as I find working when I'm not in the mood just makes my writing kind of sloppy, and none of you have ever rushed me or made me feel bad for not uploading in awhile. I even mentioned I had writer's block in my last chapter, and you all told me to take all the time I needed and to do it when I felt like it. I seriously appreciate how kind and supportive you all have been. I honestly believe one of the reasons I'm still working on this is because of how amazing all of you are. Seeing you're comments after I post a chapter excites me and brightens my day, and encourages me to continue. I know this is a rather long set of notes, but I figured now was as good a time as ever to share my thanks towards all of you. I hope to continue this story throughout the year, and I hope you enjoy the direction I go with it! Now, I hope you enjoy my most recent chapter!

Sammy’s breath was caught in his throat.

He took a step back; several, actually. His heart hammered against his chest as a horrible, freezing chill snaked down his spine at the sight before him.

_No, no, no, no, no, no…_

His mind was like a clock with a pebble in-between it’s gears, stuck in a loop with every attempt at processing the image being hit with a wave of repeated denials; the image of the remains of a friend with half of their face having melted and stringy wax-like skin with a empty socket where their eye should be.

He didn’t want to believe what he was seeing. He wanted it to be a trick in the lighting, or the exposure to the caustic fumes of ink finally getting to his head and causing him to hallucinate. Just something, _anything_ than what he was seeing now-

“Dear?”

He blinked several times at that, his mind finally halting as he looked towards what he was so desperately trying to deny.

She gave him a look of concern, one that managed to appear so familiar even through her mangled face. She held her hands together, like she had many times when she was nervous about ones well-being.

“Are you alright, honey?” She asked, tilting her head ever-so-slightly to the side. “You look…sick.”

That’s when Sammy felt his heart practically dive into his stomach in realization.

His denial was just that; denial.

It wasn’t going to change anything, other than is own perception of what was real and what wasn’t, and certainly not for the better.

All that was left of Susie was what was right in front of him.

Sammy felt his voice crack, cringing at the trembling in his voice that he had tried to force down to no avail. “S-Susie…”

Her response wasn’t one of remembrance like he had hoped, but a look of bemusement. “Susie?” She repeated the name like it was foreign to her, as if this was the first time she had ever came across such a name. “My name’s not Susie, silly. It’s Alice!”

“N-No, it’s not,” Sammy replied, feeling himself growing desperate. He no longer cared about her appearance; he just wanted her to remember him. He began to approach her, hoping that any of the information he was giving her would jog her memory. “You’re-You’re Susie Campbell. You-You were a voice actor for Joey Drew Studios. You were the voice of Alice for a year and a half. You have to remember something-”

Sammy trailed off when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Wally giving him a sympathetic look. “Sammy…” He began, motioning towards Susie. “Look.”

Sammy did what Wally asked, hoping to see some form of recollection in her expression.

He was met with the same blank, confused look, only now an apologetic look was thrown into the mix.

“I’m sorry, Sammy.” She apologized. “I really, honestly have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“When I first saw you,” She continued. “I recognized you’re face and you’re name, but…that was it. I thought if I brought you here, it would...flip some sort of switch, or something, but…”

She exhaled softly. Her sigh was wistful, yet carried an underlying shakiness.

“…That didn’t work. I’m sorry, but…I don’t remember.”

Sammy’s shoulders slumped with an invisible weight, the heaviness leaving him barely able to keep his head up.

He had hoped that she was whole enough that he would’ve been able to help her pick up the fragments of her past and piece them back together, just like she had hoped herself. He thought that maybe he would’ve actually been able to ease the suffering of at least one of his former friends. However, just like Jack or any of the other Searchers, she didn’t remember anything about who she once was. They were suffering and grasping for memories, and he couldn’t do anything about it. Even with his own knowledge of the others’ pasts, that information was essentially void if they themselves still couldn’t remember any of it; they could easily assume it to be a fabrication and not believe a word of it.

The whole thing just made Sammy feel so useless.

“But…” Susie began. Sammy looked up from the ground, and was greeted with a sympathetic smile. “At least I was right about recognizing you. That should at least count for something, shouldn’t it?”

Sammy felt his throat tighten, leaving him unable to answer.

Susie waited for a moment longer, and her face fell with a sigh. “It’s fine, you don’t have to answer,” She assured. “I understand.”

She brushed her hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear, averting direct eye-contact. “Although…” She began, still looking to the side. “I really have to ask; did we get along, Sammy?”

“I…” Sammy faltered, inhaling and exhaling deeply. He wanted to answer, but he just couldn’t force any words out. It felt as if even forcing out a simple ‘yes’ would make him lose whatever composure he had left and cause him to have a complete breakdown. “…You-”

“You guys got along fine.” Wally interrupted. He wrapped his arm around Sammy’s shoulder in a joking manner. “This guy? He was-and still kind of is-the biggest grouch known to planet earth, and you actually put him in a good mood.”

Susie gave a great, big, genuine smile at Wally’s response, and she excitedly bounced on the tips of her toes in response. “Oh, really?” She replied giddily. “I’m glad. I can’t remember, so I started to worry…” She shrugged sheepishly. “…well, that I wasn’t the nicest.”

“Well, don’t worry about that.” Wally reassured. “You were a swell gal. Right, Sammy?”

Sammy shut his eyes and sighed. Somehow, Wally had managed to lessen the tension he felt with just a simple explanation. “…Yes.” He answered. “You were a…joy to work with.”

Susie clasped her hands together and smiled warmly. “That’s wonderful…” She stated sweetly, giving Wally a kind look. “I believe I’ve seen you a great deal of years back, when we all first awoke…you haven’t lost any of yourself, it seems. How is that?”

Wally stepped back on instinct, unbeknownst to Susie, who had begun to gaze to the side with a thoughtful look.

“…Ah…nevermind it.” She dismissed. “That’s not why I brought you two here.”

She turned back to them, her expression no longer one of joy, but one of seriousness.

“I have a favor to ask of you two.”


End file.
